


Kokua

by sans_souci2



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: BAMFs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_souci2/pseuds/sans_souci2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A H50 Pilot coda in which that little gunshot wound of Steve's propels him into a world of hurt.</p><p>Kokua- a Hawaiian word, that translates as "extending loving, sacrificial help to others for their benefit, not for personal gain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Adrenalin tricks Steve into feeling good enough to flash a smile at his new partner but the effect is short lived. As soon as he jumps off the container crate his legs buckle and he feels close to passing out. Bending over and taking deep breaths doesn’t dial back the roaring in his head so he slides down against the sunbaked metal behind him. Feeling incredibly cold despite the heat radiating off the crate he wonders what the hell is wrong with him. Yeah, there's a bullet in his arm and yeah it hurts, but that’s no reason to feel this shaky. Looking down provides some proverbial good news/bad news.

At least he hasn't gone completely soft.

A rivulet of bright red blood is trickling down his arm and forming a shiny dark puddle on the rusty deck. Clamping his hand tightly over his bicep sets off an explosion of pain that makes the roaring in his head almost deafening.

"You okay, McGarrett?"

He forces his eyes open. Williams is directly over him.

"Steve?"

_So now it's Steve?_

"You okay, man?"

"I'm...fine. I'm...just bleeding like…a stuck pig." As soon as he grunts out the last few words he realizes how much of a lie the first two are. Based on the way his head is spinning, he probably has only a few seconds left. Suddenly, before he can tell Danny what he needs to tell him everything goes completely black.

_____~______

"Nice way to break in a pair of khakis," Danny grouses. He can feel McGarrett’s blood soaking through the knee of his pants. With one hand clamped on his partner’s bloody arm, he digs in his pocket for his cell phone. The second a dispatcher answers, he calls in an officer down. After he stuffs his phone in his pocket, he leans in close to inspect the slick ooze of blood on McGarrett's arm.

_Fuck._

He swallows hard and looks away refusing to let the sweet copper smell make him retch.

He really hates the blood and guts part of this job; no way he's ever going to take his daughter to work.

Breathing through his mouth, he lifts the hand he'd clamped over McGarrett's arm for a better look. It isn't that impressive of a wound and it isn't in a particularly dangerous place but the sickeningly rhythmic way blood is oozing from the entry point makes his chest tighten.

_Only an artery bleeds like that._

"Good thing you're snoozing pal,” he tells his partner as he tugs at his tie. "Because otherwise you sure as hell would have a thing or two to say about what I'm about to do." McGarrett's arm is limp and heavier than he expects it to be when he loops his tie around it. Later he would say he had no idea what he was doing- that he'd never had any training. It might have been true, but, he must have seen or read about the technique somewhere because he applies the tourniquet expertly- finding a piece of pipe to use as a windlass and releasing and tightening the pressure intermittently while he waits the eternity it takes for chopper blades to finally break through the scary as hell silence.

When the medevac bird starts making its descent, Danny's never has been so glad in his life to hear the deafening thrum of chopper blades. Before the rotors even start to power down, two paramedics are running toward him. The first one to reach him, a lanky man with salt and pepper hair and piercing blue eyes, notices the badge clipped on his belt and yells over the noise, "So what do we got, Detective?" The man's voice is relaxed in spite of how loud he has to yell. For some reason Danny instantly likes the guy. "What we've got," he yells back, "is my partner, Commander Steve McGarrett." Why he threw Commander in, he'll never know, it just came out. "Gun shot wound to the upper arm-happened about fifteen minutes ago-he was fine initially, then looked like shit and all of a sudden lost consciousness. His arm was bleeding like a son of a bitch– I tried holding pressure but it didn't do squat so I rigged up this tourniquet. I know it's probably all wrong, but, it seems to be doing the job."

Both paramedics are instantly all over McGarrett, peeling off his Kevlar and cutting away his shirt. The salt and pepper haired man whose nametag reads Robinson, J. and who seems to be in charge, inspects the tourniquet while the other man gets a pulse. "Get some O2 on him, now!" Robinson orders, urgently wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Steve’s arm. The two of them move fast- like professional athletes running plays they'd practiced for years. Danny's glad as hell they seem to know what they're doing but he'd be a lot happier if Steve didn't need them at all. It surprises him- just how much he wishes it were true given his partner has been a pain in the ass from the minute he met him.

Robinson pops a stethoscope in his ears and inflates the blood pressure cuff. As he stares at the gauge, his forehead furrows and after way too long he announces grimly, "Seventy over palp." The look he gives his partner isn't hard to read; neither is his urgent order, "He needs volume, now!"

Danny barely breathes as he watches them grab supplies and call out terse one and two word responses to each other. In less than two minutes they have an IV placed in the crook of McGarrett's good arm. "Here," Robinson tosses the bag of IV fluid at him, "hold this above your head and squeeze it hard." Danny's knuckles whiten he squeezes so hard. Robinson has to warn him to be careful not to pop the bag.

What Robinson's partner starts to do next confuses the hell out of Danny. He blinks hard as he watches bright orange disinfectant being painted on Steve's neck. When he sees Robinson rip open another IV kit, he puts two and two together. He's seen folks with IV's in the neck before and they weren't very pretty. He looks away-no way does he need to watch the needle in Robinson's hand find its way into McGarrett's neck. He focuses on his chest, instead but things aren’t much better there. McGarrettt is breathing fast; the bag attached to his oxygen mask is inflating nearly every half-second. His chest is moving up and down way too fast. There's no way he can keep that pace up for very long. Robinson's partner injects something into the IV tubing and thank God his breathing slows just a little. Not waiting to see if the improvement lasts, the paramedic grabs a portable monitor and a handful of leads and starts to peel the backing off one of the leads. Suddenly he has second thoughts and is rummaging in their bag for something else.

_What the hell?_

The paramedic pulls out what looks just like one of the cheap disposable razors Danny winds up buying at hotel gift shops when he forgets his own razor. It's the blue, stubby kind that does a lousy job. Eyes widening, he watches the man go to work and neatly shave three small patches of his partner's chest hair away. His opinion of the razor changes. Nice job. He can't help staring at all the dark hair that remains. He's seen wisps of it coming out of the neck of McGarrett's t-shirt but hadn’t had the chance to study it like he is now. He can’t stop staring-he can’t help himself. It's crazy the way thick hair swirls around each of Steve’s nipples then, suddenly all but disappears below them except for the strip that begins at his naval and snakes down into his pants. He doesn't even realize that Robinson is asking him a question until he repeats it, "Detective? I asked if you saw what kind of gun it was?"

"What? Oh yeah,” he answers, “It was a semi- automatic- I mean I didn't see it, but I heard it." He forces himself to look away from Steve’s chest and gestures at the container next to them. "They were up there, both of them. The range couldn't have been more than 20 feet."

Robinson nods; attaching wires to the leads his partner has just placed and then staring at the jagged waveform that begins to march across a portable monitor. His face scares Danny before he ever opens his mouth to say, "Shit. He's throwing PVCs."

Danny swallows hard and squeezes on the bag he's holding, "What's going on? What are PVCs?"

"Your partner's lost a lot of blood which means his heart is beating very fast to get what blood he has left to his brain and vital organs. PVCs are premature contractions- signs that his heart isn't too crazy about having to work so hard. If they continue he could go into a more dangerous rhythm that we don't want to see.

"Tachy at 120," Robinson's partner announces, then, with an audible sigh, "but sinus rhythm ... no PVCs right now."

Both men's shoulders relax just a little and Danny's follow suite. His eyes dart from Steve's still deathly pale face to a squad car that has just screeched up, lights and sirens blazing. Chin and Kono. Shit. He dreads the looks on their faces when they see Steve _._

________~__________

 Steve resurfaces in the chopper once enough IV fluid has made its way into his circulation. It's a confused re-entry followed by a drunken attempt to sit up.

"Whoa, take it easy Commander," Robinson tells him.

Danny, for some crazy reason, feels like hugging the idiot.

Robinson, less jubilant, presses his patient back firmly on the stretcher, "Lay back, Commander, you're in route to Queens Trauma Center."

Steve presses back against the stretcher, still trying to sit up.

"Commander! Lay still. You've lost a lot of blood."

The steel edge to Robinson's voice gets his attention but he's clearly not connecting all the dots even though he lies back down. His eyes are unfocused as they dart around the chopper's cabin. Grunting in pain, he scans the faces around him. When he finds Danny his expression turns panicked, "Danno…Hesse? Wha’ about his body?"

He would have laughed if McGarrett didn't look so stricken. Instead he reaches over and squeezes his good shoulder. "We'll find it, buddy. We'll as in our team and not you personally. You need to relax. Chin's on site directing the retrieval effort, he'll find the guy, trust me."

Steve doesn't like the answer. "But my shot ...may not … have taken him out. The…water will stem his bleeding...he could…survive. "

"I know, pal," Danny gives Steve's arm another gentle squeeze. "But, come on, I mean I saw you let him have it in the chest from less than twenty feet away. The guy flew backwards into the water like a clown shot out of a cannon. My money says he's fish food right now."

Steve shakes his head looking unconvinced and even more desperate. An insistent beep from the monitor on the chopper's wall suddenly has Robinson's complete attention. He reaches for a syringe, " Commander, we need to get your pain under control," He has the syringe attached to the IV tubing before Steve can grab his hand.

“No, ple-ase,” Steve grits out but Robinson depresses the plunger.

"I'm sorry,” he tells him, “But I can't let your heart rate stay this high- it could set off more bleeding."

Steve's eyes close a second later

"You just take it easy and enjoy the ride, okay?” Robinson tells him.

Steve's body slowly goes limp and his mouth drops open. Long dark eyelashes lying against cheeks that are way too pale intrigue and scare Danny all over again. Forcing himself to look away he yells to Robinson, "What's our ETA?"

"Three minutes."

“Okay. Good. So what the hell is going on with my partner? Why is a damn gunshot wound to the arm causing this much trouble?"

Robinson doesn't answer right away. He pulls a blanket up over his patient and then re-checks the monitors. When he’s satisfied the vital signs he’s seeing are going to stay stable he says, "They'll only really know after they get him to surgery but my guess is that the semi automatic was loaded with some kind of customized ammo engineered to inflict maximum damage. Based on how much pain your partner is in, I'd say it's a good bet his arm is fractured and based on the bleeding, I can pretty much guarantee his brachial artery was transected."

Danny feels sick to his stomach.

He doesn't' know brachial from femoral but he does know that bullets flew at both of them earlier today and he walked away with only a scratch. So why does McGarrett have a veritable shit show rain down on him instead? The pilot's voice over the intercom interrupts his thoughts, "ETA one minute." The chopper banks hard to the right and although he can't hear it he sees his partner moan. "Hang in there Steve," he whispers, giving his hand a firm squeeze, "Hang in there."


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

"What do you mean I can't go in there?"

Everyone all the way out to the waiting room hears Danny. Anyone who can, cranes his or her head for a better look. He knows he's making a scene but could give a damn- Steve's being wheeled into a treatment bay looking like he's in a world of hurt and no one seems to give a damn. "Careful of his arm!" he warns.

The bozos flanking Steve’s stretcher look at him like he's nuts.

Jesus. Do they even know what the hell they’re doing?

"Sir. I 'm sorry but you can't come in here."

Now what? A guy in scrubs with MD on his ID badge is making no sense at all. Two security guards coming toward him suggest that he needs to talk fast. Somehow he manages to sound a lot calmer than he feels, "Look, Doc. I'm a police detective-not some hand-wringing family member who's going to pass out, or, try to sue your ass." He chuckles to try and erase the frown on the doctor's face. No luck. Time for plan B. "You need to understand that someone tried to kill my partner- your patient - earlier today and for all I know, just might try again." The white lie rolls off his tongue as he gives his holster a squeeze, "Call me crazy but it seems like having a little protection in there is a half way decent idea."

"Detective, I understand where you're coming from, but being in here will do nothing to increase your partner's, or, my staff’s safety." The exhausted looking doctor glances toward the security guards.

Danny knows when he's beat and is thinking of taking a few steps back when he sees something over the doctor's shoulder.

They've transferred Steve to an exam table and the second they release the tourniquet blood runs down his arm and soaks the sheet under it. Urgent voices bark out orders Danny only half hears. He smells the blood and hears the monitors screech and feels sick.

"Look," the doctor says, clearly no longer interested in having this discussion, "you can stand right over there and see everything you need to. You can check IDs on anyone coming in-I can vouch for everyone already in the room." He squeezes Danny's shoulder. "Right now your friend needs my help and you're keeping me from him."

"Go. Go," he says and steps numbly back from the doorway. He wasn't trying to be a pain in ass. He just didn't want Steve to be in there by himself. That's all.

The room is fronted by a sliding glass door and the doctor is right; he can see just about everything from where he's standing on the other side of it.

But, oh God.

Talk about seeing what he never wanted to.

There must be at least five people around Steve–one of them is adjusting the brightest damn light in the world so that it shines straight down on him. Jesus. Danny holds his breath. They're tugging McGarrett's pants off, his underwear too. The only thing left is his socks-white ones that go just above his ankle. Stark white hugs deeply tanned skin-they're just socks but Danny desperately wants them to stay on. No such luck. A split second later, they're off and the only thing his partner is wearing is a tourniquet and a blood soaked bandage. He presses his forehead against the glass trying to get a glimpse of McGarrett's face. His eyes are closed. Please let him be unconscious, he prays as they start hooking wires to his chest and drawing a ridiculous number of tubes of blood from his arm. Then, it gets worse. Oh no- not that. Danny clenches his bottom in sympathy when he sees a nurse do what she has to do with his poor partner’s most private parts.

Danny holds his breath, feeling sick to his stomach and so incredibly sorry for McGarrett. At least he’s knocked out. Then he notices the way Steve’s jugular vein is pulsing and, a second later the way his eye twitches.

Oh no.

There's no way he's unconscious.

How much does he hate this?

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

The answer is a lot.

Steve hates this a lot.

Even though being shot is nothing new, what's being done to him right now is exquisitely foreign and unbearable. This is his first non-combat injury and, there's a definite luxury, he realizes, to being shot in the field. When he was stupid enough to get hurt with the SEALS, the familiar face of his unit's medic was the one hovering over him. When he came to, there was plenty of pain but also plenty of morphine and more than a few obscenities being hurled at him. The morphine numbed the pain and the Fuck you, for getting your ass shot did a good job of defusing his fear. Just one face, a familiar one that he trusted and could care less about showing his nuts to would be looking down at him- not a damn cadre of civilians he’d never seen before. Even the few times when it was bad-when he needed a hospital to get back on his feet, he arrived there after at least one urgent surgery in the field and with so much morphine on board he didn't know his own name. Basically, the few times he woke up in a base hospital, the worst indignities had already been done to him and he didn't remember one of them.

Not like now.

Not anything like now.

He groans out loud. His arm was throbbing like a son of a bitch. On top of that, no one was dishing out any morphine- they kept giving him some excuse about having to be able to consent.

Consent to what?

He glad that at least Williams has been kicked out and isn't seeing any of this. As soon as he thought it, he reconsidered, somehow sensing that Danny would have at least tried to to help him save a shred or two of his dignity.

"Commander McGarrett?"

A man's voice at the head of the table demanded he open his eyes. The light shining directly in them was so bright it hurt. He squinted at the exhausted looking man in scrubs. His doctor?

"I'm Dr. Cohen, one of the trauma attendings do you know where you are?"

"Yes...Queens." What the hell did that mean? Attendings?

"Good and you know you were shot?"

The way his arm throbbed made it pretty impossible not to know. "Ye...s. What's the…story?"

"Well, the story's a little … complicated. One artery in your arm was severed when you were shot – maybe two."

"But…I only…took one bullet?" God it was hard to think. Why was he shaking like this? Why didn't they pull up that damn sheet?

"That's where the complicated part comes in. You were shot at relatively close range with what appears to have been a specially engineered bullet- you're familiar with concussive force ammunition?"

Shit. They needed to stop manufacturing the damn stuff. He wouldn't even use it on his worst enemies. Feeling a knot start to form in his chest he nodded yes then tried his best to keep listening.

"So you know that it sets off a concussive effect that can cause significant damage quite some distance from the point of entry?"

Don't remind me. He nodded dumbly, pretty sure of what he was about to hear.

"Well, there's a bullet lodged in your bicep and the bone next to it is also badly damaged - shattered to be more precise."

It was getting harder and harder to listen. His mouth was filling with saliva.

"The main source of blood supply to that area, the brachial artery is severed and bone fragments may have severed a second smaller artery – we can't be sure given the fact blood flow was being occluded when the CT was taken. Basically we need to get you to the OR and repair the damaged vessels, then, put the bone in your arm back together most likely with internally placed pins and possibly, a small metal plate."

Stop talking. Please. He was pretty sure he was going to puke .

The doctor seemed oblivious to his discomfort, "It's not an easy surgery but we have one of the best vascular surgeons on the west coast on staff. He's reviewing your films with the head of Ortho right now. As soon as they map out a plan to save your arm, they'll meet you in the OR."

Now stomach-churning fear was giving the grinding pain in his arm a full out run for its money. He could barely get the words out- when he did; his voice was a ragged whisper "Is there…a chance I could…lose my arm?" The room was deathly quiet- the only sound was the fast paced beep from the cardiac monitor.

Answer me!

"There's a small chance. Yes. But, the odds are on your side. You're young and healthy and we're getting you to the OR relatively quickly. I'd say there's greater than a 75% chance you'll walk away from this with no significant deficits-that you'll recover full function and mobility."

But ?

"But, we have to move fast- every minute that tourniquet stays on increases the chance of permanent damage."

"So…why are we waiting?" He could feel his heart race and hear it on the suddenly screeching monitor.

"Calm down, Commander. I just needed to explain the situation to you and get your consent for the surgery, you can give me a verbal, there's no need to sign anything."

"Fine...just do it." He looked down at his purpled arm and the blood soaked sheet under it. When he tried to lift them, his fingers barely trembled. "Do it !" he croaked, scared to death that he was going to lose his damn arm. The Doctor was saying something but he could barely hear him. He was going to lose his fucking arm while they stood around and talked.

Someone pressed down on his shoulder, "Calm down, Mr. McGarrett."

He heard the doctor say "Go ahead and medicate him and then let's head to the OR."

Thank God.

He felt the sweet familiar rush of opiates flooding his bloodstream and could have cried he was so grateful. He held his breath waiting for the complete relief that the strange taste in his mouth promised was on its way. It was like an electrical current had finally stopped coursing through him. His body relaxed against the gurney. He unclenched his jaw. His tongue felt thick, he could barely keep his eyes open. Talking was only going to be in his bag of tricks for another second or two.

Someone finally pulled the sheet up over him, not all the way, but at least up to his waist. "We're going right now," he heard someone say as he felt the gurney move.

Thank you.

William’s worried face was waiting for him when they wheeled him into the hallway.

As they got closer, a cocky smile slid into place and Danny told him, “Give em hell, Steve. You show em how a fucking Navy SEAL fights."

He finally got it right- he said Navy. An exhausted half smile flickered across his face just before his eyes closed.

_Williams wasn't all bad._


	3. Chapter 3

"Detective Williams?"

Someone's talking to him but their voice sounds like it's coming from behind a closed door.

"Mr. Williams?"

Now it's louder but barely clearer. He blinks hard to bring the man, make that the man and the room, into focus. His neck feels permanently kinked and when he takes a deep breath his own ripeness mingled with the aroma of stale coffee makes him do the mental equivalent of rearing back. "How…. is he?" he asks.

Eyes wide open, but barely functioning, he rakes his hand through his hair as if it might help restore some kind of order to his world. "Is he okay?"

The doc sounds like he's checking in after a tonsillectomy. "Your partner's fine- they've just taken him to the PACU-the recovery room – he should be waking up any minute now."

"Really?" Danny says. "Okay. Good." The words come out only because he doesn't know what else to say, not because he buys into them. Cramming his hands in his pockets he stands there feeling stupid and scared.

When the doctor continues, his voice sounds more like it should-just a little worried, "We reduced Commander McGarrett’s fracture and then we placed him in what's called an external fixator. A frame of sorts around his arm with metal struts inserted into his bone.  We did find two arterial tears which we repaired- one in the brachial artery required a graft. It was a delicate repair but went very well-“

"Wait a second. A graft? What's that mean, a graft?"

"A graft is patch of sorts to replace a damaged portion of a blood vessel. In your friend's case we used a 2 cm section of synthetic material to replace a section of his artery that was too badly damaged to be repaired. From all indications it's doing beautifully-"

"But what?"

The good doc looks a little flustered, "I'm not sure what you mean, Detective?"

"What I mean, is I've got this strange feeling you're about to drop a but bomb on me, you know, as in - everything's fine, but your friend's in a fricking coma."

The doctor looks even more confused, “Well you don't have to worry about anything like that. Your partner really is fine. Obviously, with an injury as serious as his, there is always the chance a complication may develop down the road, but, right now he has good blood flow and no signs of infection. As soon as he is able, we'll ask him to perform simple motor tasks like making a fist or flexing his wrist. Based on his response we'll know more about his neuromuscular status."

Jesus. The guy would be so much more bearable if he dropped the damn medical jargon and just laid it on the line. With a mother of a headache setting up shop behind his eyes, Danny decides to try and do it for him, "Okay. So you're saying it'll be a few days before we know if his arm still does all the things it's supposed to?"

A hesitant nod is enough for him to keep going, "But, big picture wise, he's okay and not in a world of hurt?"

"Yes, detective, that's right." The doctor seems to find something amusing. Danny swallows the urge to call him on it.  "In fact, as soon as he's taken up to the ICU , you can see him."

"The ICU? Are you kidding?" He so doesn't trust this joker. "You just said he was fine?"

"That's right. He is. But he's lost a good deal blood and just come out of six hours of surgery. In addition, the graft in his arm requires neurovascular checks every half hour for the first day or so- something only the ICU's staffing ratios can handle."

Okay that makes a little sense. At least it's enough to get Danny's heart rate closer to where it should be and for him to decide there's nothing more to be gained from the doc, "So what's next? Do I wait here or head up to wherever this ICU is?"

"You should just wait here- someone will let you know as soon he's taken up to his room."

"Ok. Will do." As soon as the door closes, Danny sinks back against the couch, feeling like he's just done a lousy job interrogating a slippery suspect. His eyes burn as he rubs them so he drops his head back against the arm of the sofa and keeps them closed for a second. When he opens them a few seconds later he sees that he's got the entire Emergency Response Personnel Family Waiting Room to himself .

_Wait a minute?_

_Where the hell are Chin and Kono?_

His phone's instantly out and he's punching in Chin's number. After five rings it goes to voice mail .

_____~______

Steve's woken up to a few incredible hangovers before but this one takes the grand prize.

His throat feels like sandpaper, his stomach wants to evict any and everything in it and he can barely open his eyes .

The pain that hits a second later is like nothing he's ever felt. He breaks out in a cold sweat and feels like he's going to puke .

"Easy Mr. McGarrett, you're just waking up form surgery. Do you need some pain medicine?"

Jaws clenched, eyes closed, he nods.

"No problem. Just one sec."

The sheet and blanket covering him are lifted and he feels a slight tug on his good arm. A second later the sweet rush of some kind of narcotic begins to ratchet back the pain.

"What I gave you is fast acting but doesn't last long - as soon as I get you a little more comfortable I'll switch you to morphine."

He nods weakly, keeping his eyes closed and hoping she'd understand that he wasn't up for much conversation.

Something about coming out of anesthesia and being in such incredible pain jettisons him back to a memory he'd tucked away for years and years.

 _Queens Hospita_ l .

He's five years old…nearly six.

Even the pretty nurse leaning over him couldn't make waking up alone in a strange room anything but terrifying.

"Shhh. Your mom will be back soon. Just roll over for me sweetheart and let me give you some medicine." She may have been pretty but she was pulling the covers off of him and tugging his pajama bottoms down so that cool air wafted over his bare bottom. Something icy cold swabbed his skin then he yelped and went rigid as a stainless steel needle sank into his backside. Shoulders heaving and hot tears welling ,he fought hard not to cry.

McGarrett men didn't cry.

"Hey buddy?"

His ears must be playing tricks on him. His dad never got home until long after dark and by then he'd be so exhausted he barely had a word for even Mom. It was still daylight – late afternoon sun was streaming through the hospital room window and yet he heard the voice again, "Hey Buddy?" This time it was accompanied by crepe soles moving across linoleum toward him.

Floating between the hazy memory of then and the fogginess of now, he could barely keep his head in the game.

God he hurt.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a nurse attaching a syringe to his IV .

Go ahead, do it. He honestly couldn't remember what had happened to him. He just knew he'd give anything for someone to dial back the pain.

After no more than a few seconds he got his wish.

_Thank you._

Now he was calm and floating and feeling so damn much better that he almost forgot the searing pain that had just been pulsing through his arm .

He must have drifted off.

"Hey there buddy, you doing okay?"

The minute his father asked that question, he looked up and bobbed his head up and down. Of course he was okay. He was a McGarrrett.

"That's my boy." Worry melted off his dad's face- replaced with something he couldn't describe but oh God how great it felt to have him look down at him like that-his eyes sparkling and his face crinkling into a smile. "Your mom told me how you walked right into that operating room and climbed up on that table all by yourself. I'll tell you what, buddy, I'm so damn proud of you. I'd have been scared out of my britches if I were you."

His chest felt like it just might burst.

"The doctor says if you promise to take it easy you can come home tomorrow. I just might snag a squad car and hit the lights and sirens so the tourists don't slow us down. How would you like that?"

He wanted to say he'd like it - make that love it, but his mouth was full of saliva that he didn't dare swallow. He looked up, helplessly.

"What's the matter, buddy? Your throat hurt?"

He had to do it. He had to swallow so he could tell him he was fine. His shoulders came forward as his body braced for the pain.

There was no way to be ready for the way it felt -razor blades scraped the sides of his throat and a pained cry shot out of his mouth. His jaw dropped open and bloody saliva dripped down on the starched white sheet.

_Oh no!_

Hating himself for ruining the special time he and his dad were sharing he looked up, blue eyes brimming with tears.

"Don't worry little man. I know it hurts. Here. Just spit into this."

His father was holding a curved metal dish up to his lips. He leaned over it, shoulders trembling, and spit. He had to squeeze his eyes shut as soon as he saw it.

_So much blood._

His father found some tissues and wiped his mouth then coaxed him into lying back down. "Close your eyes Stevie. Just get some rest."

The broad hand smoothing over his forehead, and up into his hair felt like heaven as a gruff voice lulled him into closing his eyes. In a few minutes, as promised, whatever the nurse had given him worked its magic. His father's hand stayed where it was on his forehead until he fell asleep.

"That's it McGarrett," Danny said, "Just relax.


	4. Chapter 4

He's been back and forth between being conscious and wishing he wasn't so many times that the IV s and monitors don't freak him out anymore. While he squints hard to bring it all back into focus he braces for what he knows is coming.

Bingo, right on schedule.

Someone's pulling the sheet off of him. In a few seconds the demands for circus tricks will start coming fast and furious. The first voice is gentle but insistent.  
"Are you with us Mr. McGarrett?"

An equally insistent hand shakes his shoulder, not on his injured side, but the movement alone makes him bite back a groan. As soon as he opens his eyes, four white-coated strangers are staring down at him. The one closest to him grips his hand and throws down the first gauntlet.

"Mr. McGarrett. Can you wiggle these fingers for me?"

It takes a second but he does it, inhaling sharply at the painful sensation that immediately shoots up his arm. Confused and a little nauseous he wonders why his arm hurts like hell.

"Very good, Mr. McGarrett. Now squeeze my fingers- as hard as you can."

He holds his breath and forces himself to do it. His hand feels fat and stiff and is slow to respond. As his fingers contract, even though he's braced for it, the pain still shocks him. It's like a new circuit has been installed to send white hot pulses up into his shoulder any time his hand so much as twitches.

"Very good-" The doctor sounds pleased but then his voice changes, "And how's the pain, Mr. McGarret?"

It takes a minute but he eventually gives the same answer he's been grunting out ever since he first woke up in the recovery room, "It's…o….kay"

"Well don't be a hero. You've got that controller in your other hand – all you have to do is push it for a dose of morphine."

He nods that he understands but there’s no way he’s doing anything until he has more information. "So…h…ow long until I'm -"

"Out of here?"

He nods, starting to feel dizzy even though he's flat on his back.

"Hard to say exactly but I'd estimate within three or four days. Keep in mind even once you're discharged, you're looking at about six weeks of complete immobilization of your arm and after that another two months of rehab. I know how physical your work is, Mr. McGarrett; I'm afraid you're going to have to find a way to manage things from the sidelines for a while."

He closes his eyes .

He can't stand looking at the man and his merry little band for one more second. There's unfortunately no way to block his voice.

"What you need to realize, Mr. McGarrett is what a lucky man you are. I've seen many injuries like yours result in amputations. The fact that we were able to restore blood flow and save your arm is nothing short of a miracle."

"I appreciate ...that. I'm just really tired."

"Of course you are. We'll let you get some rest and check back in a few hours."

Any chance you can make that a few days?

As soon as the entourage of white coats leaves, a sarcastic sounding lifeline of sorts bobs to the surface, "Miracle my fucking ass."

He turns his head and as soon as he spots Williams rumpled shirt, crooked tie and slicked back hair, for some reason feels better-even better enough to quip back, "You dis…agree with the good doctor?"

"You bet your ass I disagree. That was no miracle."

"Oh … really?"

"Yes. Really. That was the result of an extremely healthy victim being given immediate and appropriate first aide at the scene followed by timely evacuation to a Level One Trauma Center."

"So you consider me…extremely healthy?"

"Don't let it go to your head, but, yes I do. I mean look at you. You pass up junk food like it's a damn holy calling and you drink a disgusting shake instead of eating solid food like a normal human being. My guess is you probably do a good half hour of Seal calisthenics every night before you lay down on a grass mat and zen yourself to sleep."

It hurt like hell but he couldn't help laughing, “Zen myself to sleep?"

"Yeah. I can just see you laying there "Hmmmm-ing" while wind chimes tinkle outside your window."

Wincing but smiling, "You really don't…. know me. You know that?"

"Oh really? Granted I might have a few details off but I'm usually pretty good at pegging people." Danny shrugs noncommittally, "Not that it really matters. I'm just glad your ass is apparently going to be back in the saddle sooner or later." He glances toward the door, "I'm also glad that your esteemed surgeon took off- talk about a lousy beside manner."

Steve wants to thank him for so many things including being pissed off on his behalf but the pain in his arm is suddenly starting to act up. In spite of himself he inhales sharply and clutches a fistful of sheets in his good hand as he pushes back against the mattress.

"And what exactly is your problem?"

"Wh….at..?" He’s honestly not sure what Danny means .

"Why is it that a seemingly intelligent person like yourself refuses to press this little button–" Danny grabs the controller out of his hand and presses it emphatically, "Hell, you just had a boatload of metal pins screwed into your arm. Call me stupid but something like that's going to hurt like hell. Like the good doc said, don't be a fucking hero."

His tongue's already starting to feel thick and his head cottony; as blissful as it would be to just give in, he can't, "How...long?"

"Until that contraption comes off?"

Steve nods.

"Your doc wouldn't make any promises but he said 6-8 weeks is the usual."

Steve looks down at the pins poking out of his skin-his expression is a blend of sickened and pissed off.

"Come on, it's not the end of the world. Who knows – you might even have a halfway decent left hook once you're done with rehab."

Danny's face starts to go in and out of focus and as hard as he fights it, it's no use. Steve feels a blanket settling over him and hears, "Get some rest, okay, pal?"

His good shoulder gets a gentle squeeze and the light over his head goes out. He's feeling a little high- which isn't a bad thing – it just makes it harder to make sense of things.

_When did Williams become so much more bearable?_


	5. Chapter 5

I’m sorry Mr. McGarrett.”

At least the nurse apologized when she pulled the sheet back.

"Just give me a second and I’ll get this untangled.”

Then she pushed his gown up around his chest and, for a second, erased all her brownie points. He gritted his teeth and focused on the cracks in the ceiling while she did what she was doing - the whole time thanking God that Williams wasn’t seeing this. As much as his new partner was strangely growing on him, some things were better not shared- like the this which was the hateful catheter they’d stuck in him when he was too out of it to stop them. Now the damn thing had somehow gotten tangled up and moving just a fraction of an inch in any direction made him feel like he was about to rip off a near and dear to him part of his body.

When in God’s name were they going to let him pee like a normal human being?

The good news was that she was fast. Her hands might have been icy cold but she had the tubing untangled and was pulling the sheet back up before his face was half as red as it could have been. He even managed to mumble a thank you, glancing at the clock on the wall instead of at her when he did.

It was just easier that way.

If the clock was right, it was a few minutes past two which meant she’d be around for another five hours .

He liked her.

He guessed the five hours because he’d finally figured out their shifts- seven to seven, am to pm ,and vice versa . Every twelve hours a new face showed up. It always started out a little awkwardly- a perfect stranger basically waltzed in with a free pass to ask about or check out any part of his body .

 

On the flipside there was that unexpected sense of regret that came at the end of each shift. When you thought about it, it made sense. For twelve hours one person took care of what ever he needed and made it somehow okay even when what he needed was something hellishly embarrassing.

Like it just had been.

“Anything else you need before I go?”

He glanced down at his arm.

“Is it hurting you?”

“S…..ort of.”

“Here, let me increase your Dilaudid a little. From what I heard, you didn’t sleep much last night, I’d say it’s time to get a little more aggressive."

He wanted to disagree - he hated narcotics and despised the fuzzy headed, dry mouthed feeling they left him with but too many hours of pain and no sleep meant he said nothing as he watched her punch the buttons on one of his IV pumps.

“There you go. Now all you have to do is push this controller, okay?“

He closed his eyes and pressed the button she’d just wedged under his thumb. An immediate soft beep and flash of green light promised relief was on the way.

________~_______

 She must have really upped his dose because when he finally tried to pull the room back into focus he felt like he’d been out for days. A bleary glance at the wall clock told him otherwise–five o’clock- only three hours. Good. Williams should be back soon. He hoped like hell he would had some thing concrete on Hesse .

“I see you’re awake ?”

It wasn’t the voice he expected. He reared back trying to focus on the woman next to him.

“Relax Mr. McGarrett- I’m just giving you your pain medicine-“

Wasn’t the pump supposed to do that?

His chest tightened, “Who…are you?”

"I’m Jen, one of the other nurses on the floor." She laughed as she untangled the IV lines snaking down toward his hand. "Anne asked me to cover for her- she just needed to run and get something from the cafeteria-”

Nowhere near clear headed enough to know why, he felt his pulse quicken. When she took two tries to attach a syringe to his IV, another alarm went off, “No, wait-don't give me that!"

“Relax Mr. McGarrett- your doctor ordered it for you."

She was just about to depress the plunger.

There was no time- he had to trust his gut.

Bracing for the pain he knew was coming he reared up and grabbed for the tubing. Just as fast, she grabbed it back, pushing him down firmly with a stiff palm against his chest, “Mr. McGarrett!”

White hot pain shot through his arm and across his chest. He tried to yell for help his what came out was only a shocked gasp.

“Oh Mr. McGarrett. – stop being so silly !” The words were playful but her expression was anything but. Her hand was back on the syringe and her thumb was coming toward the plunger His only choice was to launch himself at her which he did, supporting himself on his good arm as he reared up and swung his injured arm, steel frame and all at her. The instant it made contact a horrific sound, more animal than human, ripped its way out of his throat. Roaring in agony, his eyes rolled back in his head as steel pins ripped out of barely knitted bone and tore trough muscle.

It was like no pain he’d ever experienced …ever

As high a price as he paid, at least he stopped her. His body’s forward motion made the woman lose her grip on the syringe and stumble backward in no small amount of pain herself.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, “Anne- are you okay in there?”

No! Help ! He tried to scream but the pain had taken his breath away. Collapsed against the mattress, he grabbed for the IV tubing with his good hand kinking it in his fist and squeezing as hard as he could in case she’d managed to inject anything into it. A downward glance at his bloody arm actually helped by energizing him with rage. There was no way she wasn’t going to get away with this.

The woman clutched his bedside table gasping to get her wind back. He clamped down harder on the tubing and angled himself sideways- ready to kick her if he had to but the the pain from shifting positions brought him ever closer to passing out. She was coming toward him, her face going in and out of focus. The voice in the hallway was , thankfully, getting closer too- “Anne- do you need help?” Too close, the woman must have suddenly decided because she unscrewed the syringe and ran for the door.

Thank God. All he wanted to do was pass out for some reason he couldn’t. Instead, he lay there, trapped in the most artfully conceived hell on earth imaginable - in so much pain he couldn’t move or speak or even open his eyes.

____~_____

 The nurse in the hall briefly saw his assailant from behind as she ran out of his room – long dark ponytail, pink scrubs, medium height, maybe Asian were the only things she remembered when she was questioned. What she did remember in far greater detail was the bloody scene when she rushed into the room. Her frantic scream echoing up and down the hallway, brought every available nurse and tech within earshot racing to help .

McGarrett’s nurse Anne ran from just three doors down and couldn’t believe her eyes. “ Get Ortho in here now!“ Then leaning in over him and softening her voice, “ You’re going to be all right Mr. McGarrett, we’re going to help you.” As she said it her eyes scanned the screeching monitors – his pulse and blood pressure were through the roof. One glance at his arm explained why. He was either going to go into shock or pass out from the pain. His eyes were open but unfocused and he was making an agonized keening sound. She leaned in to try and make eye contact.“Hold on Mr. McGarrett I’m giving you something for the pain.“

"P...pink sc...rubs.......Asian......woman," he choked out before the pain hijacked his voice.

"That's who did this to you?"

He tried to nod.

“Someone page anesthesia!" A man’s voice boomed beside her.

Clark. One of the ortho doctors-one of the decent ones. Thank God.

She heard him yell for his intern to call the OR and let them know an emergency case was coming down, then, he was right next to her, leaning over the side rail, “Hang in there Mr. McGarrett, we’re going to get you comfortable and then take you to the OR to patch up your arm. Can you tell me what happened?”

Incapable of speech,he shook his head while sounds he’d never made before spilled out of his mouth. Clipped urgent voices worked over him for an eternity until one of them finally made a blessed promise. "Here you go Mr. McGarrett," a grey haired man said as he attached a syringe of whitish fluid to his IV, "Pleasant dreams."

Before the word dreams, his eyelids started to droop. A second later, blessed darkness engulfed him. He never heard the doctor insist he be rolled to the OR on his bed- to hell with waiting for a stretcher. He never felt the monitor being placed next to his legs or the oxygen mask being strapped on his face. Thank God he also missed the urgent expressions on the team transporting him and the frightened looks he got in the hallway. Most of all, thank God, when the elevator doors opened, he missed the look of shock on Danny’s face when he realized who was on the bloody bed in front of him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wh…at happened?" then, louder and more incredulously, "What the hell happened?"  
Barely able to get the words out, Danny forced his way back into the elevator - trying not to look at the bloody sheets under his partner or the scary as hell shade of white his face has turned. Maybe it's the look on his own face or the badge clipped to his belt but for some reason no one dares to tell him to get off. When he sees the OR button being pushed and the elevator starts to descend he loses it, " Someone please tell me what's going on!"  
He remembers the nurse who finally answers from earlier that day and tries not to look as crazed as he feels as he listens to her. He hears most of what she says but it isn't easy - his eyes keep darting to the hideous contraption around Steve's arm - had someone yanked on it until the pins tore through his skin? Shaking his head he parrots back her insane explanation-half expecting-half hoping it would be retracted. "Someone was in his room and he fought them off?"

He wants to shake every damn person in the elevator who believes what she's saying but the thing is, they're all looking like they feel sick but that's really what happened.

"So where was the officer I left outside his room?"

None of them knows. Suddenly the elevator doors open and they're pushing Steve's stretcher down a hallway and he walks beside him dumbly. They're hurrying down the hallway when a groan from the stretcher makes everyone glance down and grimace.

Steve's waking up and he's in a world of hurt. Danny could kiss the man in scrubs who injects something into his IV that relaxes the agonized grimace on his face. Before any kind of real relief sets in, they're slowing down again. He pockets his phone and can't understand why a woman is suddenly between him and his partner. She has the nerve to tell him he can't go through the double doors that McGarrett has just disappeared behind.

He sees red. As if he hasn't already seen enough.

Deep breath.

"I'm only going to say this once." Strangely enough his voice is measured and calm as his hand settles on his service revolver - he lets her see his finger flex on the trigger, "That man is my partner and someone just tried to kill him,"

One more deep breath.

"No matter what your rules are...no matter what your policy is, I'm staying by his side until I'm sure they're not going to try again." He meets her stare with an icy one of his own, "Look-I'll do whatever you want me to- wear a gown and mask, scrub my hands until they're raw- you name it but I will be in the same room with him at all times." He finally inhales. "Are we clear ?"

Before the shocked woman can answer, a man in a white coat nudges her, "I'd get the man a set of scrubs if I were you, Gina."

Ten minutes later-

He knows he’s needs to do this, but the urge to slip out into the hallway grips him the instant the OR’s cold, antiseptic air hits his face. The room itself - tiled and bathed in incredibly bright light is bad in more ways than he can count. At first he manages not to focus on the instruments and equipment - staying busy confirming that each person scrubbed in is who they say they are. After that, a careful sweep of cabinets and any concealed areas gives him a pass from having watch Steve being positioned on the narrow, barely padded table. All too soon though, he has nothing more to do and is leaning against the wall, masked and gowned, and swallowing hard as he stares at his partner.

Thank God McGarrett is out of it .

Sure they need access to his chest to attach EKG leads but when they whip his gown off and adjust a bright light over his naked body it seems like they could have at least covered his lower half. As soon as Danny thinks it, he almost reverses himself. He knows it's wrong but he stares at Steve.

Based on the number of sidelong glances coming from all around the room, he's not the only one who's helpless. McGarrett’s long tan legs look almost sculpted their shape is so faultless and muscles so well defined. It's not just his damn legs though- every part of his body is blindingly perfect - even his toes and graceful long fingers. Danny’s eyes roam; he admires the swell of Steve’s thighs and the soft patch of dark hair between them. Wait a minute. What the hell am I doing? He know he should but he can’t look away. His gaze follows the creases along the tops of his thighs to just below his hipbones. Mesmerized, he admires the slight, handle like indentation where ligament attaches to bone. Even flat on his back, his partner sported an achingly perfect six pack.

Sweet Jesus.

It's a good thing they finally do cover him with a sheet. It makes no sense but Danny’s infuriating risk-his-neck-for-the-hell-of-it partner is having an effect under his zipper the likes of which he hasn’t felt since… well since college. He shifts and crosses his legs, grateful for the blue paper gown he’s wearing over the scrubs they’d made him put on. It’s thankfully a short-lived predicament. Watching a breathing tube being forced down Steve’s throat does a damn good job of getting rid of the bulge in his pants. Biting the inside of his cheek he watches them drape blue cloths over Steve's chest, leaving only his bloody arm outstretched on an extension that juts out from the table. Lying there tethered by wires and tubes he looks like he's being prepped for some hideous form of torture instead of an attempt to save his arm. When two surgeons step up to the table and start dismantling the frame, high-pitched drill sounds and seconds later, grunts as they tug on metal rods only add to the sickening impression.

The surgery is long and bloody. After the frame is removed an incision running from Steve's shoulder to his elbow is reopened. Gleaming retractors hold its edges spread apart while torn vessels are isolated and repaired . Over and over again wisps of blue grey smoke rise up from the bloody mess as a cautery tool seals off bleeders. When most of the bleeding is under control, the room hushes while a doppler ultra sound probe hunts for pulses in his arm and hand. Danny's chest feels like its about to explode until a reassuring swosh swosh sound is heard and a collective sigh of relief goes up around the room. Finally, and, as if he's not beat to shit enough, they make an incision over Steve's hip and harvest a hunk of bone. New pins and the piece of bone are laced with whatever original bone is left and the fracture stabilized. Twice, during the process, reassuring beeps from the cardiac monitor had been replaced by irregular racing beats and the whole room had frozen until the anesthesiologist won back a regular heart rate.

Jesus, can you just let the guy catch a damn break.

When the last suture is finally knotted and the frame back in place, the anesthesiologist begins to dial back the mixture of gases keeping Steve unconscious. Leaning against the wall in sweat soaked scrubs and watching his partner being wheeled to the recovery room Danny's weak with relief and more than a little confused. He feels like he did when they found out Gracie was going to be okay-that her sky fever wasn’t caused by meningitis.  
Why the hell is McGarrett making him feel this way?  
____~____

 

Re-entry is the same as it has been each time. Steve fights hard to open his eyes. The first thing he sees is the blurred image of someone sitting next to the bed. He blinks hard to bring whoever it is into focus.

"Hey sleepyhead, nice of you to join us."

There's playfulness in his voice but a worried expression on his face. He's so damn tired of worried faces.

"So, how are you feeling?"

Good question. It takes a minute to even know. The ache in his arm is constant and intense but nothing like it was. He remembers slamming his arm against the woman and almost losing his mind it hurt so bad. Just the memory does a number on the steady beep of a monitor behind him, edging his heart rate higher and higher until a shrill alarm sounds. He needs to hurry before they knock him out again, "Hesse.. is alive."

 

Williams comes over and leans on the bed rail, "So we figured, after this." He glances down at Steve's arm. "Look, what happened to you should have never happened, I'm so sorry. And just to let you know, I've got so much damn security in this place, I nearly couldn't get in."

How can Williams be so stupid? "No. Don't you see-there's no way to-"

"Shhh, calm down. We've got half of HPD here- trust me, no one's getting to you."

Danny's glibness shocks and scares him. "There's no way to...secure this place. People …will get hurt."

Another monitor goes off on the wall behind him and his nurse hurries in. "Mr. McGarrett, you need to calm down."

"No … please let me finish." His throat feels like he's swallowed shards of glass but he has to make Danny understand that there's no way he has a handle on the shit show about to go down.

"Come on Steve. Take it easy- we've got you covered, I'm here and there are two uniforms at the door and two more at each entrance to this unit – trust me, you're safe."

"I'm not worried... about myself- innocent people are," he winces, "Going to get hurt."

His nurse is tapping numbers into the pump that feeds him morphine and a soft beep tells him he doesn't have much time. "Please Danny, you …have to…get me out…of here-please!" His lips and tongue are starting to feel fat and numb.

"As soon as your doc says so-I promise I will."

As much as he desperately needs to convince him there's no way Steve can fight the narcotics. In a resigned surrender his body goes limp and his mouth drops open. The last thing to give in is his fist – it's a full minute after his eyes close before he finally unclenches it.

Leaning over the bed's side rail and before he realizes what he's doing, Danny runs his hand over McGarrett's forehead and gently massages his temples, "Just rest, Steve -just rest." He leans in closer to flick an eyelash off of his cheek then lets his fingers trail down the side of his scruffy jaw.

What the hell am I doing?

He yanks his hand away and looks over to see if anyone saw him. Thankfully he's alone.

Close one.

He drops back into the chair next to Steve's bed, relieved but unsettled. He rubs his eyes- unable to get the desperate look on Steve's face out of his head. Is he right? Is Hesse's going to go after him again and put the whole damn hospital in jeopardy?

He needs to hear what the alleged experts from the FBI have come up with so far. He needs to hear that the pasty faced boys who'd flown in from DC to save the day are earning their inflated salaries.

Kono answers on the first ring and says she's in the lobby, on her way to meet with Hospital Security and find out how Hesse's hired gun got an official ID. He tells her how frantic Steve was when he woke up and that he needs to get back to headquarters. She says she'll be there to relieve him in five.

Eyes closed, but mind refusing to stop racing, he sits back and waits.  



	7. Chapter 7

One day later  
"She's here, Steve."

"Here?" He leans forward, blinking hard to bring the room into focus.

"Well, not here, as in here right now," Danny smiles because he can't help it, but here as in, her detail just rolled into the lobby."  
“Oh. Oh…kay.“

Steve feels like he's slogging through some kind of mental quicksand. Rubbing his eyes clears away enough of the fog for Danny’s face to come into focus. His expression is neutral. Okay, good. Too much worry would be as hard to take as too much cheerleading. The fact that the Governor is on her way up and not outside the door means he has a few more minutes to get his head back in the game- another good thing.

Breathe. You can do this.

The advice he gives himself is good enough to start loosening the knot in his chest until he catches sight of way too much bare skin.

Shit. There was a blanket – where is it?

He rears up, remembering it was light blue and nubby and sees a corner of it sticking out from between the footboard and mattress.

With the blanket wedged at the foot of the bed and his sheet tangled up around his feet he’s got nothing but the flimsy gown to cover him. No way she's walking in on him like this. The problem is that his legs feel like lead when he tries to kick the sheet loose.

"Hey, you want some help with that?" Williams is already reaching for the sheet and it’s all he can do not to swat his hand away. The honest answer is Hell no, but since what he wants and what he needs have recently become polar opposites he says nothing and lays back, feeling his face redden while Williams lifts his leg and untangles the sheet.

“There you go pal- no more free shows.”

He groans. Williams is only trying to keep it light- he gets that. He just really hates this whole hospital thing. It’s not about him though he reminds himself and thinks about what he needs to accomplish in the next few minutes. His mouth feels like he's been asleep for days, which segues his thoughts to what he must look like. Not vain but not willing to face the woman he works for looking like hell, he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair. It's a simple gesture he does without thinking probably ten times a day but this time his arm feels like lead and the movement somehow makes his other, beat to hell arm throb. Biting back another groan, he gives up.

"What? You worried about not looking your usual handsome self?" Williams digs into his pocket, “How about I spiff you up a bit?"

Before Steve can answer, Danny is grinning at him and running a comb through his hair. He closes his eyes in self defense.

“I’d give you a shave but the Queen Bee will waltz in here any minute and that scruff of yours is going to take a lot longer than that.”

Danny’s hand smoothing over his cheek makes him flinch and open his eyes; the concerned smile waiting for him makes him feel a little foolish about flinching.

"You okay?"

"Yeah-I'm just a little tense."

"Don't worry- the gov loves ya."

It's hard to know what the impish look spreading across Williams' face means.

“And, thanks to me, that GQ look of yours is back."

He can't help but snort weakly and is about to thank Danny for all the above and beyond the call of duty bullshit he’s having to deal with when a sudden, out of nowhere muscle spasm ambushes him.

"Steve- what's wrong?"

Not good. Williams smile is history.

“You look like you could use a hit ?"

Really not good. He's got the controller in his hand.

"No, it's my throat. I need…some water-can you help me sit up?"

Even with Williams supporting the full weight of his arm when he shifts back against the pillows, the pain is so ungodly he freezes.

“Whoa, did I do something wrong?"

He desperately wants to tell him that he didn't and that he’s fine but everything he has is going into breathing and not groaning out loud.

"Steve?"

Give it a sec- it’ll let up, he tells himself as he waves off Williams and nods at the water pitcher- hoping that giving him something to do will make him drop the controller.

Thank God it works.

And, thank God the pain eases up enough for him to want what's in the pitcher. It’s just water- barely chilled but it tastes heavenly. Williams is warning him to go slow but he sucks intently on the straw until the glass is empty then drops back against the pillow.

Not surprisingly, a less worried Williams has questions. “So what exactly is so important that you forced me to invite her highness over here?”

It’s okay that he ‘s not crazy about the Governor –he’ll come around. Right now Steve just needs to get his game face on, “You’ll find out when she gets here."

“Okay, fine if that’s how you want to play. I just thought that with us being partners and all you would-"  
Oh - Shit.

Steve's mouth is suddenly filled with saliva .

“What’s that look for? Steve?”

Swallowing hard does nothing to dial back the pressure in his throat or roaring in his head.

“Steve?”

"Gon…na be sick!"

“Whoa! Hold on-”

He’s not sure how Williams knows what he's doing, but he’s damn grateful for the plastic basin he thrusts under his chin because once it starts, it feels like he's never going to stop wretching up bitter watery bile.

“That’s okay...get it all out.” Danny’s voice is a soft murmur that he hangs onto to block out the sounds of his own gagging. The hand on the back of his neck is cool and strong and reminds him of his dad's-he can almost hear him saying the same thing-That all of it, Stevie?

Oh God it better be.

He drops back, scared that the door is about to open and the governor walk in and find him like this.

Williams says something about getting rid of the basin but he’s still just trying to get his breath and can't respond. When Danny comes back, he has a towel and washcloth and starts wiping his face matter-of-factly, and, of course, talking, “Man that was rough-you feeling a little better now?"

He nods, yes, hating that Williams is having to play nurse to him, “I’m…really sorry, Danny.”

“Hey don’t be- you couldn’t help it. Although, I distinctly remember warning you to go slow on the water-“

He tunes him out, wondering why it is that Williams honestly doesn’t seem to mind what he's doing. In fact it’s almost as if he enjoys it. For sure, he's good at it - the way he runs the cool cloth over his face and reaches behind his neck with it feels heavenly. Is it because he's a dad? Has Gracie taught him this? He sinks back against the pillows and chooses not to analyze his partner anymore and just enjoy how good what he was doing feels.

“Come on. You need lose this pal."

Williams is untying his gown and whisks it off so fast he barely knows what's happening. Before he can even think about getting embarrassed, Danny's pulled the sheet over him and is saying something about going to find a clean gown. As he watches him walk over to the stack of gowns on the windowsill, he finds himself appreciating, and, not for the first time, how close to perfect his partner's body is. Wondering what's going on in his head, he watches Williams turn and smile at him.

“Now this little number is one that I think will look stunning on you."

It’s hard not to smile back.

Danny holds the gown out for him to put his arm through then, leans in close to arrange the other sleeve carefully around the fixator the way the nurses do, not putting it on, just draping it over the wicked thing. He’s so close Steve can smell that familiar scent of his and see the tiny hairs peeking over the neck of his buttoned down shirt and both things make him, for some reason, feel good.

“Okay big guy, now this time, you listen to me. One small sip-rinse and then spit- got it?” Williams is holding a clean basin and fresh glass of water out for him and this time he listens.

“That’s the way, good job."

He drops back against the pillows, feeling stupidly proud of himself.

“Okay, Commander Salamander-" The comb is out again; Williams' eye are sparkling with humor, "Let's get you spiffed up before the boss lady shows up."

He wants to give him shit about the Salamander thing but two quick knocks on the door freeze them both.

“Steve ...? Can I come in?"

They look at the door, then at each other. He's not at all sure he can do this, but Williams flashes him a grin, “Relax McGarrett-I got your back. If she fawns over you too much I'll step in.”

There's something about the guy that's just so damn hard not to like.

 

__________~__________.

 

"Oh my God, Steve." The Governor stops in the doorway taking in his arm with wide eyes that are way too worried, "I am so very sorry-”

Before he knows it she’s across the room and looking down at him with an expression that he honestly can't bear. Williams is stashing the soiled stuff somewhere, which means he can't make good on his promise. Steve forces a smile and it must be a pretty good one because she relaxes and little and smiles back. Before he can enjoy the win he catches a glimpse of his bare leg. Oh shit. It hurts but he reaches for the sheet.

“Oh don’t be silly Steven."

What? He can't believe it. She's brushing his hand away and covering him up like it’s something she does everyday. His face turns red.

“For heavens sakes, Steven, I've raised two boys-trust me, you don’t have anything I haven’t already seen."

His face still feels like it’s on fire but, just as she probably intended, he’s also feeling a little silly. Yes, she’s the Governor but she’s at least ten years older than he is and a mom, and it sure sounds like she could give a damn if she sees a little more of him than she should. He manages a sheepish half smile and she gives his hand an affectionate squeeze. "I'm so sorry about what you've been through."

All of a sudden, she slides into full Governor-mode, “When I heard about what that bastard did - sending someone into your room to hurt you, I was livid. Trust me, I’m doing everything I can to see that Hesse and his despicable people are apprehended." She pauses, taking a good look at the frame,"My God, Steve, those pins…that contraption on your arm… it all looks incredibly painful."

"It’s not." He can’t say it fast enough.

Her gaze goes from his arm back to his face. “Look me in the eye Steven McGarrett and tell me that thing doesn’t hurt.”

“It’ doesn’t...I mean, it did, but I took something."

“Well it looks like you need to take something else." She reaches for the call button, "Here, I'll get your nurse."

"No! Please, I'm fine." He feels Danny's glare from across the room but ignores him. The smile he pulls off is weak but at least it’s enough to get her to relax her shoulders and listen to him. "This thing...looks alot worse....than it is."

"Okay Steve, but don’t you dare play Navy SEAL with me- if you're in pain-you take something for it- do you understand?"

"I do, I promise." God, he feels like he’s ten years old. “Please Governor, right now, I need you to listen to me - I know Hesse...better than anyone on this island, or this earth and I can tell you...without a doubt...he's going to come after me again." He pauses to run his tongue over his lips and close his eyes. When he continues, he keeps them that way, it’s just easier. "The next time he'll resort to something more dangerous- explosives maybe... or, worse, maybe some kind of biological agent. No matter...how many people are detailed to provide security here- they aren't going to be able to...stop him and innocent people are going to get hurt."

She didn't say she didn't believe him, "What is it you want me to do, Steve?"

He fixes opens his eyes and stares into hers, "I want you to…authorize my transfer…to a safe house- the FBI must have at least one on the island.

"Whoa! Hold up there buddy. I'm sorry but I have to interrupt. Are you out of your mind?"

"I have to agree with Danny, Steve. You look about as ready to be discharged as I do to be surf the pipeline."

That manages to make him smile but only weakly and only for a second, "Whether I'm ready or not – I can't stay here. I beg you to listen and get me discharged, please."

"You really are serious, aren't you, Steven?"

"I've never been more...serious."

"I don't know - it sounds so risky. What if you develop a complication- what if, heaven forbid, you needed to go back to surgery?”

"Governor there's a 100 percent change I'm going to develop a complication- one that may kill me, if I stay here and an equally high chance that lot of other people might be hurt along with me."

"Have you talked to your doctors about this?"

"No but if I sign my self out AMA there's nothing they can do."

"I’m sorry, AMA?"

"Against Medical Advice," Danny offers reluctantly.

"Oh." The governor's frown deepens. "What do you think about this, Daniel?"

Danny comes over to the bed, "What do I think? I think he's better off sitting tight and letting us beef up security here. Once he's out of the woods and the docs say it's okay-we can whisk him off to a safe house. And yes, Steve, you are right. The FBI does indeed have a very good one in Ohau."

Steve's really hurting now and doing a lousy job of hiding it based on the way both of them are frowning at him, "But you can't stop him...I know because…I've tried and...lost valuable people in the process."

"I'm sorry to interrupt Governor but –" A nurse lets herself in the room.

"No no- go right ahead."

Steve braces for what he knows is coming.

"Your blood pressure is elevated Mr. McGarrett – how's your pain?"

"It's o….kay."

"Really?" She‘s scanning the damn screen on the pump, “because your last dose of morphine was over two hours ago."

"Steven, don't be silly." The governor locks eyes with the nurse, "Please give him something-he's obviously in pain."

“Come on, McGarrett- push the damn button," Danny adds.

Three against one?

The sides are so uneven he wants to cry foul but there’s no ref to hear him. Instead he grits his teeth and returns the Governor's stare, “Please, just tell me you'll authorize what I'm asking for?"

"I want to help you Steve- I really do, but I don't want to jeopardize your recovery."

"Please! I can't stand by… and watch that bastard kill one more innocent person and …that's exactly what's going to happen if-" Suddenly it's so bad he squeezes his eyes shut and claws at the mattress. A monitor behind him starts making an awfu,l high pitched beep.

"That's it Mr. McGarrett- I'm sorry but I'm going to have to insist you take some pain medicine."

Eyes squeezed shut and panting through clenched jaws he feels her pat the sheets and find the controller he'd hidden. A faint beep tells him he’s lost his fight and he sinks back helplessly.

The governor's soft hand smooths over his forehead. "You really feel strongly about this don't you?"

Her tone has changed. "Yes," he answers.

"Well how about I meet with the gentlemen the FBI sent down from DC as well as with your team and your doctors and we'll discuss the feasibility of what you're asking for?"

"Th…ank you."

"I didn't say I would do it – I just said I'd look into it."

"I k..know."

"You a very hard man to say no to, Steven.” She leans in to whisper, “Just like your father."

What?

Seeing her eyes suddenly mist over makes his do the same and he turns so that Danny can’t see. She straightens up, "But, just because I’m meeting you half way, doesn’t mean I’m not going to insist you play by my rules which means you stop this tough guy routine and use this,” holding up the controller, “whenever you’re hurting. Do you understand?”

She’s starting to go in and out of focus, "Yes ma….am."

“Good. And, Detective Williams, let your team know I'll be calling all of you for a meeting in my office - hopefully this afternoon. "

"Yes Ma’am."

________~________

She takes one last look from the doorway. Steve's eyes are closed but the deep lines across his forehead and rapid beep of the monitor tell her he's still in pain. She knows he wants her to leave and let him tough out the last seconds before he drifts off without an audience and nods at his partner then slips out into the hallway. Her heels click on the linoleum floor and she slows down to lessen the noise and buy herself a few seconds to run a finger under each eye and hope her mascara isn’t too smudged. After a polite, "Ready to go, Mam?" her aide thankfully doesn’t say anything else in the elevator. Her eyes are on the floor indicators as they descend but her mind is miles away.

Oh God she misses him.

Seeing Steve laying there reminds her of him so much and brings his father's rugged face back to her in agonizingly painful detail. She remembers the jagged little scar just above his eyebrow and how she kissed it and inventoried all his other scars while they lazed on the beach in front of his place just a few weeks ago. It takes biting her lip to fight back tears. She wins by sheer grit but it’s not an easy victory - the sight of John's son fighting so desperately for what he believed in reminds her of him so much it hurts.

Oh God, she misses him.  



	8. Chapter 8

Danny feels sick to his stomach and they haven't even left the damn hospital. It's a waste of breath, he knows, but he can't help asking one last time, "So you're sure you want to do this?"

"I'm … sure."

"Well, just to go on record, I think it's nuts and I can't believe the Governor, in all her alleged wisdom signed off on it. You're going to be nothing but a sitting duck out there-make that a hurting, sitting duck."

Steve's closed his eyes and turned his head, but it doesn't stop Danny, "Hey, but maybe I'm wrong. I mean since a SEAL team is going to be keeping your ass safe and sound, maybe I got nothing to worry about?"

It looks like Steve's trying to come up with an answer when he gets a pass. "Calvary's here, ladies," Chin calls from the doorway. Danny's shoulders square reflexively and Steve's do the painful equivalent. First he pushes back against the pillows, keeping his eyes locked on the door, then he shifts his body up a few inches. It's only a few and his injured arm barely moves. It doesn't matter. There's no mistaking the pain on his face.

"Lt. Commander?" A clean cut man in camouflage fatigues is through the door and across the room in about three strides.

"Yes?"

Danny could throttle Steve. Would you just stop looking embarrassed every time someone walks in the room?

The man extends a hand toward Steve, "Patrick Garrison, Five-Alpha,"

"You the …officer in charge?"

"Affirmative."

"Steve McGarret, Five-Charlie."

"Good to meet you." The barely thirty-year-old looks a little star struck as he starts shaking Steve's hand vigorously, as in let me show you what a strong guy I am. It's his uninjured arm, granted, but Danny's learned from watching carefully over the past few days that any movement at all kicks off the pain in his partner's mangled arm. If only McGarrett were even halfway normal he'd caution his visitor but instead, Steve returns the shake with matching vigor. Danny wants to smack both of them.

"My men and I are ready to get you out of here as soon as possible. By the way," Garrison leans in and lowers his voice, "All of us are familiar with what you and Five-Charlie pulled off in Hyesan back in '09," He takes a deep breath as he straightens up, "and we're damn honored to be able to do this for you."

"I appreciate that."

If there's one thing Danny's picked up on so far, it's that there's nothing like a compliment to make his boss positively itchy. True to form, Steve instantly launches a redirect, "I'm sure I don't need to warn you that Victor Hesse is extremely dangerous." His eyes dart down at his arm; Garrison's follow. For the first time, he looks a little worried.

"We're well aware of the target's capabilities. We've done our homework and are ready for anything the bastard might try.

Target?

The odd word choice trips Danny up; he wants a time out to ask what exactly Mr. Lean Clean Fighting Machine is talking about but Steve's already fast forwarding, "So we're good to head out?"

"We are."

"What's the transport package?"

"You'll go by chopper with myself and four of my men; your team and the rest of mine will go by ground via two armored Humvees. The LZ is a field directly behind the safe house. Two of my team were there on R &A earlier today; the terrain is tame enough to load your stretcher into one of the Humvees and drive you up to the house."

"How many with you in total?"

"Nine including our medic."

Steve nods but looks uncomfortable at the mention of the medic. Danny's had all he can take of these two acting as if they discussing some kind of rational plan. "Hell. I take it back. I was worried out checking you out of the hospital Steve but it sounds like we have all the medical expertise we could possible need. I mean, who needs a hospital when we've got, what did you say, buddy, a medic?"

"Pat, this is Danny Williams my partner at Five-0."

If he were a sensitive guy, he might take offense at Steve's apologetic tone.

Garrison pretends not to notice, "Good to meet you. I understand there are two more from your team coming with us?"

"That's right – you just marched past one of them, Chin Ho Kelly over there in the doorway."

Chin gives Garrison a chilly nod.

"And you most likely noticed a tall, good looking young woman in the hallway with a badge and sidearm right about here," Danny pats his thigh.

"She's on your team?"

"That would be a ten-four. Officer Kono Kalakaua is indeed on our team."

"Very good," Garrison says and turns back to Steve but can't quite lose the stunned look on his face, "I'll…um…go see if the medic is finished being briefed by your doc." After a deep breath he appears to have recovered, "If he is, we're good to go."

"Okay, good. " Steve's eyes are half closed but the deep lines around his eyes and across his forehead guarantee it's not because he's about to drift off.

"You trying to be a damn hero again?" Danny hisses at him as soon as Garrison is out of earshot.

"I just … wanted … to be able to think … straight."

"Well now you can think crooked." Danny grabs the controller to McGarrett's morphine pump and presses it even though he's been told about a hundred times not to. "Sweet dreams partner-I sure as hell hope you and I both live through this."

__________~____________

The safe house is twenty miles from the hospital.

It should have been an easy chopper ride.

For some crazy reason, should haves don't seem to apply to McGarrett.

About five minutes after they're airborne the pilot's voice comes over the team's comm sets warning that the ride's about to get a little rough. It seems that the evening's rainstorm packed a little more punch than expected. Garrison and his team brace for turbulence and recheck that the stretcher's locked in place.

Unfortunately morphine does a mean thing to the stomach as in every lurch of the chopper hits Steve, hard. One minute he's floating in a cottony haze, aware only of the deafening drone of the rotors and the way his lips feel fat and numb. The next his mouth is filling with saliva and his stomach insisting on a nasty show of force.

Thankfully the medic knows what he's doing.

With Garrison's help he turns Steve on his side so he doesn't aspirate the bitter stuff he's vomiting up and then he grabs a suction cannula to get rid of it. What he does protects Steve's airway but his arm, unfortunately has to be handled more than a little roughly as he's kept on his side to heave and puke his way through the rest of the flight.

Bottom line, he's hurting when the chopper finally lands.

________~________

When the Humvees reach the landing zone and the chopper is nowhere to be seen, Danny starts to pace a track into the damp grass, "What the fuck? We go by ground and get here first?"

"Calm down. You heard what they said- the chopper had to fly inland to avoid some rough air-they'll be here any minute now." Chin eyes the night sky worriedly. On the other side of him Kono is practically a bookend version of Danny, pacing and glancing up at the sky as she bites her lower lip.

"We've got a visual on you," one of the SEALs suddenly says. Sure enough a chopper appears on the horizon a second later.

Danny glares at the man, muttering under his breath, "You can't just say, 'We see you,' for fuck's sake?"

"Shh, Danny, chill." Chin whispers, "They're on our side."

As soon as the stretcher is offloaded, Danny's up next to it and about to crack wise with something about Steve taking his sweet time when he sees how grey his coloring is and how grim the two SEALs flanking his stretcher are. "What happened?"

"He got pretty sick up there thanks to some rough weather. We held off on any more morphine-he's okay now."

"Man you can't catch a break, can you McGarrett?" Danny leans in over him, "You hanging in there?"

Steve nods but it's a weak one. He looks like hell. He's minus his gown for some reason and is shivering under a thin blanket.

"Where's his gown?" Danny asks.

"It got soiled."

"Don't you have something else to put on him-he looks like he's freezing."

"Unfortunately not. Let's just get him into the vehicle."

Great. Danny thinks to himself. How about you give the guy pneumonia while you're at it?

While a four-man team forms a perimeter around the Humvee, Steve's stretcher is loaded into it. As much as Danny hates to admit it, the SEALs operate like a finally oiled machine. Jogging with two SEALs along side the Humvee as it heads for the house, he's impressed by how they have it flanked by men on foot and followed by a vehicle sporting a side-mounted weapon of some kind. Up ahead the rest of the team is already combing through the house making sure there will be no surprises when Steve shows up. Chin's on the other side of the Humvee with his automatic rifle ready; Kono's riding shotgun with the driver. It's a decent welcoming committee, Danny concedes. Even if Hesse's hired help knew their location, unless they wanted to get shot to pieces they'd probably stay away for right now.

Once they're safely inside, Steve's settled in an upstairs bedroom that's looks pretty much like a hospital room. A table against one wall holds a mountain of supplies and medications; under the table are portable oxygen tanks, sterile instrument kits, and boxes of supplies. Steve is knocked out on phenergan so Danny's heads to the kitchen to fill his poor empty stomach before he takes his first watch. He likes that the three of them are being rotated in side by side with the SEALs for watch duty. It's just the fact that they're doing this at all that has him irked. Correction. There's something else that had been bugging him ever since they left the hospital. Since Chin's making short work of a bowl of soup across the table from him, he was going to hear about it.

"Does it seem a little funny to you that these super stealth, super elite SEALs moved Steve here, out in the open the way they did- I mean with not even the slightest attempt to hide the fact he was being taken out of the hospital?

"What did you expect them to do?"

"I don't know; maybe pretend he's being taken to X Ray or something. You know, have an orderly roll him down to the ground floor and then, slip out a back door. I mean we practically broadcast the fact he was going on a road trip the way we marched out of the place."

"Maybe that was intentional."

"And what sense would that make?"

"Steve doesn't want to have to be watching his back forever you know."

"Oh so he wants Hesse to hunt him down and make a move on him, then, he can, what, take him out with that wicked titanium reinforced arm of his?"

"Or maybe a few hand picked folks with him could do the honors."

"I so hate you. What do you know that I don't?"

"No one's confirmed anything, and I didn't even bother confronting Steve, but what if this mission isn't just to protect him? What if it's to draw out Hesse's people and then use them to find Hesse?"

"Don't tell me our boss would do anything that stupid."

"Ok, then I won't."

Danny rolls his eyes and pushes back from the table, "Well, I'll tell you what. I'm going to put my dishes in the sink like this, throw my trash out over here, and go have a little chat with GI Joe Junior because I for one would like to know the plan since it just might impact my life expectancy."

"Good luck with that, brah."

_________~_________

"Hey, sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep cowboy but I have a question."

"Yes?" Garrison sits straight up and is wide awake in about a nano second. Danny feels a little guilty about waking him up but his neck is on the line and what with the fact he has a daughter and all, he really does deserve to know what these jokers have planned. "So, I was wondering if you and my boss maybe have a slightly different game plan than the one in the published playbook."

"Sorry, I don't follow?"

"What I'm asking is this. Are you-" Danny's point two outstretched hands emphatically at Garrison and then points out into the hallway, "And your boys hoping Hesse will send a welcoming party out here so you can nab one or all of them and use their sorry asses to find Hesse, who you will then," he throws his hands up in the air like he's stirring it, "Annihilate with your arsenal of big bad weapons?"

"We're here to protect Lt. Commander McGarrett."

"So am I buddy, but I've got a sick feeling that's not all that's on my dance card. How about you level with me?"

"All right Detective, I will and for the record, I only withheld the information at the request of Lt. Commander McGarrett."

"That answers my question. I so hate him."

"Can you blame him for wanting to put this bastard away for once and for all?"

"Of course not. But I can blame him if he gets me and a few others killed in the process."

"Detective, traditional law enforcement is never going to be successful apprehending or convicting an individual as well insulated as Hesse. The mission profile for this op was approved at a very high level in Washington. If Hesse makes a move, any move at all, my team is prepared to apprehend any personnel he sends our way and then with their intel, immediately go after him."

"That's just great. I hope your team is prepared to go to it's own funeral and mine, too."

"The only outcome we prepare for is a successful mission. Now if you would excuse me, I really need to get some rest and I believe you're on the roster for perimeter patrol right about now."

"You mean target practice duty, as in me being the target, don't you?"

"I really need to get some rest, detective. "

As Danny heads for the door he mutters under his breath, "And I really do need to get a new job."

_______~________

"Are you...the medic?" Steve asks the man hanging a bag of IV fluid on the pole next to his bed.

"Sure am. Trevor Fortas at your service, not only a SEAL but an Advanced Trauma certified SEAL." The man laughs, "Hell, I've been keeping this pack of daredevils alive for going on three years now."

"Texas?"

"Yep. Plano to be exact."

"Naval Academy?"

"Class of '98. But enough about me. How are you feeling now that we got the loop d'loop ride over with?"

"I'm … okay."

"Nausea's better?"

"Yeah."

"How about the pain?"

"It's...okay."

"Your doc tells me you're not a fan of narcotics, can't say as I blame you, but that's a nasty injury you got there. I'm pretty sure Advil isn't going to cut it. You're overdue for a hit of the good stuff if you want it?"

"No thanks. That stuff messes up my head."

"It's your call as long as it doesn't mess with the rest of you too much. You let pain get too out of control and it'll do a number on your blood pressure and heart rate. But hey, I'm guessing you know that?"

Steve changes the subject, nodding toward the wall, "Is that a real window?"

"Nah, blinds and curtains over a mural. Nice touch huh?"

"This room have it's own air?"

"Yep and we've got these for back up in case that gets compromised." Fortas pats the breathing apparatus on his belt and nods to the one laying on the bed next to Steve. For an FBI operation, this place is pretty well thought out. Now where was I," Fortas picks up a clipboard, "So you want to hold off on pain med. Check. Second question. Think you can eat anything?"

"Not yet. Maybe later."

"Drink anything?"

"I'm not really thirsty."

"Well you're getting enough fluid with the IV so we don't need to force it. We'll try a few ice chips in a while. Eventually we got to get your gut back on track."

Steve nods.

"And finally, your doc told me to swab those pins in your arm with an antibacterial everyday. I figure now's as good a time as any. You okay with that?"

"That's fine. And then could you please let Garrison know I'd like to see him?"

"Not a problem. I was planning to grab a sandwich and a cup of the God awful coffee one of these ya-hoos has probably brewed by now. I'm pretty sure I can stir up the boss man when I do."

Just the mention of food and coffee makes Steve's stomach warn him that his decision had been the right one. He sees Fortas pull on a pair of exam gloves and get out some swabs and braces himself. It's not that what the medic is about to do will hurt. It's manipulating his arm to get to each of the twelve stainless steel pins that he's not looking forward to.

"You sure about that pain med?"

"Yeah. Just go ahead and do it. I'll be okay."

"Your call, buddy."

Steve closes his eyes while Fortas gets to work. The sound of a knock on the door followed by it opening and then a familiar voice forces him to open them a minute later. "So you're awake? Good, cause I got a bone to pick with you."

"Wh...at."

"You heard me." Danny's next to the bed and frowning, "Wait," he takes a careful look at Steve, "Why do you still look like hell."

"I'm fine."

"And I'm the fucking queen of England."

"My fault." Fortas admits, "I'm having to move his arm a fair amount to clean these pins."

"Did you give him anything?"

Fortas shrugs, "Tried to."

"I swear to God McGarrett you're your own worst enemy. What is it with you, do you get off on pain or something?"

"Why are you… here, Danny?"

"Well what I came to tell you before I noticed your grey complexion and sweaty forehead is that I, being the stealth detective I am, have figured out your plan and I got to say I hate it even more than the original one."

He doesn't have the energy to argue, "Do you really … blame me?"

"Blame? Fuck. I don't know what I should do to you. I mean, Christ, yeah, you have had a hell of a horrible homecoming thanks to Hesse. And I really am sorry about what you're going through now, also thanks to him. It sucks. It's just that using yourself as bait, so your pals can try to get his location...I mean, call me crazy but a lot could go wrong with that."

"I know. And, I understand if you or Kono or Chin want to leave. I told you guys not to come in the first place."

"Whoa. Hold up there. What about the fact we're a family and all?"

"The only way I can be part of any family is by getting Hesse out of my life for good. As long as he's free, I'm not."

"Okay fine. As much as I hate it, you may be right. I just think there has to be a better way to lay our hands on the guy."

"Well so far no one's been able to come up one."

Danny shakes his head but his body language says he gets it and has wandered off the warpath, at least for now. He turns to Fortas, "So what do you think? Any signs we're being watched?"

"No one's sure. So far the only sign of life around here is that panel van up at the top of ridge behind us. Garrison's got someone looking into whether it belongs to anyone living around here."

"Based on this guy's luck, odds are it's chock full of armed and crazed commandos who would like-nothing more-" Danny stops mid sentence.

"What Danny?"

"Shh," he points to his earpiece, frowning. His hand settles on his weapon. "Possible company."

Fortas drops what he's doing and peels off his gloves, "Showtime?"

"Could be. Garrison wants me downstairs." Danny's already in the doorway, "Keep this closed and locked no matter what."

"Go. Go! We're good."

Fortas has an M11 Sig out and ready for business before the door closes. "Well they didn't take long." As the minutes tick by he shares whatever he hears on his comm with Steve, "Looks like they've spotted a SUV approaching. It's running dark, about 200 yards out, no radio detected" He listens intently, then, "Heat sig suggests four occupants." A minute later he adds, "Now he's reminding the boys that we want a few live bodies when it's over." Grinning, "That's gonna be a tough trick for some of those old dogs down there."

"Shh!" Steve cranes his neck forward, "Did you hear that?" His eyes are trained on the ceiling. Fortas's follow.

"What?" the Texan whispers.

"Do we have anyone on the roof?"

"Negative." Fortas taps his earpiece, "Garrison this is Tex. Get a set of eyes on the roof pronto- we're hearing some-" The rest of what he says is drowned out by the muffled sound of automatic rifle fire outside.

"Say again, Tex" Garrison responds a few second later.

"Possible hostiles on the roof!"

"Fuck. We're a little tied up down here. Get McGarrett in the cave, now!"

Fortas was already disconnecting Steve's IV, "Sorry buddy we gotta get our butts behind some reinforced steel, as in like right now!" Steve already has his legs swung over the side of the bed and is panting as he cradles the frame encasing his arm against his chest. Light- headed from the pain and the fact he'd barely sat up in over two days, it's pretty much only thanks to Fortas dragging him across the room that he makes it to what he had thought was a closet door. As Fortas tugs hard on a the thick metal door the ceiling directly over them reverberates with the sound of footsteps.

"Sons of fucking bitches!" Fortas yells as he shoves Steve into the reinforced safe room his team affectionately christened the cave when they discovered it. "Shit I'm sorry, Steve," he apologizes as soon as he has the door closed. "You still with me?" After switching on a small wall mounted light he kneels down on the floor and helps Steve roll onto his back. "I'm guessing that hurt like a mother fucker?"

He hurts too much to even try to talk. It's the kind of pain that makes him wish he could pass out. As bullets ping off the steel fortified ceiling over their heads, Fortas grabs a first aid kit off the wall. "Hold on buddy, I'm pretty sure we got the good stuff in here."

Steve's not crying but his eyes are watering which makes it hard to see. He tries to get a sense of what else the tiny closet sized space they're in is equipped with but white hot pain pulsing through his arm makes him give up and squeeze them shut.

"Here you go- little stick," Fortas warns, pushing up Steve's gown and not giving a damn about prepping his skin. He needs a big muscle to take the amount of morphine in the pre-filled syringe and Steve's thigh doesn't disappoint him. The only reaction he gets as he sinks the needle in is a grunt. "Hang on, this stuff only takes a minute or two to kick in."

By the time he feels the first twinges of relief, Steve's soaked in sweat. Fortas is too, but for a different reason. The safe room has it's own air supply but it's hot as hell. "Those ya-hoos better wrap this thing up and come get us out of this fucking sauna pretty soon are or I'm not going to be smelling so pretty."

Steve's floating on a enough narcotic not to care or even notice the heat but he gives the medic a weak nod.

"You doing better?"

"Yeah, I'm...good."

"Well I'm not buying that but at least it looks like your pain's dialed back abit."

Not surprisingly, Steve changes the subject, "Are you...getting anything...on your comm?"

"Nah, that's the only downside of this little love nest- steel reinforced walls floor and ceiling. We're sealed off from the damn universe."

"S'okay..." Steve tells him, his eyes drifting close.

Fortas watches his breathing until it's slow and deep and then takes a long deep breath. "Now we just got to wait for a knock on the door and hope to hell there's a familiar voice to go along with it." He says it softly, knowing full well that Steve's not hearing him. He just needs to keep talking to keep his nerves in line-it's a thing Texan boys do.


	9. Chapter 9

Twenty minutes after a hail of bullets started raining down on the roof above them Fortas is still crouched beside McGarrett with his Sig ready and his eyes on the steel door that separates them from whoever had sent the little surpirse their way.

“What the hell is taking so long?” Fortas whispers to himself-no way McGarrett can hear him with all the morphine he has on board.

_Wait a minute._

His eyes shoot to the door then slowly travel down it. When he puts his ear against its cold metal surface, his face lights up like he’s hearing the most beautiful music in the world. Okay, so it’s not music and it’s not beautiful but the sound he hears is definitely all kinds of wonderful. Dash-dash-dash; dot-dash-dash-dot. And they just keep coming.

_Oh yeah._

One of his boys is definitely out there.

He puts all the dots and dashes together- _Open up-we’re secure._

There’s a pause. He waits for the final collection of dots and dashes he’s hoping for.

_Up yours._

Okay it’s definitely his team. “It’s about fucking time!” he growls as he opens the door. Bright dust filtered light stuns him at first but he’s quick to recover and even manages to sound convincingly pissed when he asks, “What the hell took you so long?”

It’s like he doesn’t hear or see him the way Garrison pushes past him. His eyes are locked on one thing and one thing only.

McGarrett's laid out on the floor, unconscious and with blood pooling under his battered arm. Garrison looks at him and then at Fortas with an expression Fortas can’t remember ever seeing before.  

"How… is he?," Garrison asks.

“He’s okay, really he is. He looks worse than he is.” Fortas reaches over and gives Garrison’s shoulder a squeeze.. “The trip in here was just a little less than smooth; I had to hit him hard with the morphine afterward.”

Garrison nods and takes a deep breath. That’s when his shoulders relax his nose wrinkles. “Damn it Fortas. It smells like you been in here for a month!”

“Well excuse me. You try sitting in this steel hotbox for as long as you left us up here and see how sweet you smell.”

“How about we get McGarrett situated instead of discussing how rank Fortas is?”

The voice coming from the doorway behind them startles them both.

“Good call Haskins,” Fortas says to the  huge man behind Garrison. “Come on-give me a hand.”

The two of them crouch on either side of Steve, “Whatever you do be careful of his arm.” Fortas warns Haskins, “I already roughed him up enough when we hightailed it in here.”

“But you kept him alive and that’s what counts buddy.”

The look on Fortas’s face says he’s not letting himself off that easy.

_______~______

 

It’s about an hour later when Steve starts to resurface. When he manages to pull Danny’s face into focus he croaks, “We… hold on to… any of them?

“We held onto all four of them as a matter of fact,” Danny answers. “Unfortunately only two will be any good to us.”

Steve’s frown tells Williams he’s too fuzzy headed to catch his meaning. “So we’ve got two bastards in the basement being interrogated. Two others didn’t make it including the one yours truly shot off the damn roof.”

Steve still looks confused, “So two? We have two in custody?”

“That’s right, buddy.”

“Who’s doing the interrogation? Garrison?”

“Actually, no. Commander Wet-Behind–The-Ears passed that torch on to someone older and just a tad scarier looking. You remember the big guy who rode with you on the chopper-looked like a pro linebacker?”

It takes him a minute but Steve eventually nods.

“So this guy has definite skills in the fine art of interrogation. You’re not going to believe who Garrison teamed him up with, either.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, no way he’s up to making a guess.

Fortas clears his throat, “We need to wrap this up detective.”

“Sure, okay. So to cut to the chase Steve, it's Chin Ho Kelly down there doing his thing with this hulking linebacker guy named Robertson.”

“You really think… the two of them can deliver?”

“You bet I do. I listened in on them and seriously, I would have shit my shorts and given up everything I knew if the two of them were working on me.”

“I’m sorry to cut things short boys but I have a little repair work to do.”

Danny and Steve look up at Fortas who’s just laid a pile of supplies on the bed. Their eyes dart to Steve’s arm and the bloody chux pad underneath it. “Damn-that looks like hell again.” It slips out before Danny can stop himself.

Not that it’s not true.

When Fortas shoved Steve to safety the metal frame around his arm slammed against the floor hard and a few of the steel struts embedded in his arm tore through skin leaving jagged lacerations behind. The bleeding has slowed to oozing but the lacs need to be closed.  
“You’re going to need a few sutures, Steve. I can do it right now, or...” Fortas pauses.

“Or?” Danny prompts.

“Well I checked in with McGarrett’s doc and he wanted some Xrays to be sure his arm hasn’t been thrown out of alignment. I guess we could hold off and have it all done at-“

“I’m not going to any hospital!”

“Whoa! Take it easy Steve.”

“I'm not going Danny. I mean it.”

“Okay fine, but how do you propose getting an x-ray out here in the middle of no-where?”

“How about I look into it?” Kono’s voice from the doorway startles all of them. “Hey boss, you doing okay?” She’s still in Kevlar and covered in dirt from diving for cover earlier. “So I hear you had company?" She leans in and takes a good look at his arm." That hurt?"

“No. It’s … fine.”

Kono’s not fooled and not happy they’re even having this conversation “Sorry we let them get as close as they did.”

“S’kay… the important thing is we… got two of them.”

Brightening, “You got that right.” She turns to Fortas, “Look I heard you say you needed an x-ray. One of my relatives is pretty much home bound these days. She fell a few weeks ago and her doctor had someone come out to the house and take an X ray. I could call his office and get the name of the company they used.”

“Really?” Fortas chews on his lip as he considers it, “Course Garrison would have to okay bringing a civilian in. Do me a favor. Go tell the boss what you just told me and if he thinks we can work it out, make the call to that doc.”

“I’m on it,” she says, and then turns back to Steve. “Chin and that guy Robertson are making some serious headway downstairs. My guess is it won’t be long before we’ve got a location on Hesse.”

“That’s… good,” Steve grunts closing his eyes after he says it.

“Since I’m about to demonstrate my sewing skills – how about we take the edge off, Commander?”

“Don’t ask the goof just give it to him.”

“Okay.”

“What’s that, Steve?”

“O…kay.”

“Well then why am I sitting here twiddling my thumbs?” Fortas draws up a syringe of morphine faster than, to use his vernacular: you could shake a stick. Danny and Kono watch him attach the syringe to Steve’s IV and depress the plunger. Almost in unison their shoulders relax. As the lines on Steve’s face soften, the same happens to the furrows on their foreheads. It’s as if the narcotic is working its magic on them too.

In a way it is.

_____~_____  
.

It’s not until hours later that Garrison okays using the mobile x ray service.

With stipulations.

“We meet the tech at a prearranged location; blindfold him and drive him out here. I don’t want him knowing where we are or, seeing McGarrett’s face –”

“Why?” Kono asks.

“Because the one thing Robertson and Chin have been able to get out of our two detainees is that Hesse doesn’t know where they are. I’m not about to put a civilian out there who can clue him in.”

“Excuse me.” Danny raises his hand but there’s nothing deferential about his tone of voice, “How can Hesse not know where his boys are?”

“From what both men downstairs said, separately, as soon as they started following us from the hosptial Hesse called for a radio black out in case we had audio surveillance in play. I don’t know” Garrison shrugs, “It could be a crock but I’m not risking it. If he doesn’t know where his boys are, I’m not going to let info get out.”

“Okay fine but don’t you think this guy might just balk when you whip out a blindfold and tell him to take a seat in the back of his van?”

“He would if I hadn’t had a chat with his dispatcher- who as it turns out, did some time in Iran with the Eighty Second Airborne. I told him a little tale about a political prisoner being interviewed at a top-secret location. Told him we’d gotten a little overzealous and needed to be sure we hadn’t done any serious damage. I can guarantee you the man he sends will be onboard with our plan.”

“What about the frame on Steve’s arm. That’s one hell of an identifying characteristic.”

“He’s right,” the man next to Chin says.

“Damn it,” Garrison admits, looking embarrassed and pissed at the same time. He’s quick with a work-around, though, “You ever take an x ray, Fortas?”

“No but I’ve watched it done a fair number of times.”

“Okay so we’ll bring this tech out here and have him show you how to take the x rays. He doesn’t go into the room with McGarrett. Think that would work?”

“Don’t see why not. I never thought it looked that all complicated.

“Good. Then that’s the plan,” Garrison looks out across the room, “Questions?”

“Yeah. How many of you are going to go pick this guy up?”

“Only two- we still need to stay sharp here in case Hesse's boys were lying.”

“Speaking of Hesse.” Chin strides in looking beat. He’s soaked with sweat but there’s an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

“You get something else?” Garrison asks.

“You bet we do.” He hands Garrison a piece of paper towel with writing on it. “These are directions to a secluded little mountain top retreat just south of the Puu Ka Pele Forest Reserve.” Chin’s smile dares Garrison to ask.

“Hesse is there?”

It hardly seems possible but Chin’s smile widens, “He was when our friends downstairs left the place this morning. Seems he’s been holed up there ever since they fished him out of the harbor.”

“I want to know how the bastard is still alive.”

“I asked the same thing, Danny. It turns out he was wearing Kevlar when Steve shot him-apparently he started wearing it 24/7 the day he killed Steve’s father.”

“Man’s gonna need a lot more than Kevlar.” Kono murmurs.

There’s laughter at that but everyone quiets down as soon as Garrison stands and holds up his hand. “Look, I know you all want to race off and put this bastard away for good but our mission is to keep McGarrettt alive.” He pauses to make eye contact with each of his men before he continues. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Five-Tango has been on standby in the event we got a location on Hesse; they’ll be in route to this little hideaway as soon as I call the directions in.”

“What the hell Garrison? Why can’t we do the honors?”

The man asking is handsome and brawny and looks genuinely disappointed.

“Our mission, Rawlings, is to protect Commander McGarrett and that means we stay right where we are-here with him.”

The five-0 team looks relieved; in all honesty they are. One skirmish like the one they just lived through is more than enough of an adrenalin rush for all three of them. Garrison’s men, of course, see things a little differently, “Fuck,” Haskins grumbles from the other side of the room, “We do all the work and some other team nabs the prize?”

“The prize is a successfully completed mission, Haskins, same as it always is. Now how about you pick someone to be your date and head over to this address.” He takes a neatly folded slip of paper from his pocket and hands it to Haskins. There will be a white panel van waiting for you at this address in forty-five minutes. The company’s name is Advanced Mobile Imaging-the dispatcher says it’s on both sides of the vehicle in red and blue lettering-you can’t miss it. The tech inside is a 28-year-old Caucasian named Curtis Turner. The dispatcher didn’t have a photo of him but he said you’ll know you have the right guy if a six foot four, extremely skinny, red haired male is behind the wheel.”

Haskins pockets the address and smiles at his teammates, “Standby gentlemen. One blindfolded, probably shitting his shorts, carrot-top coming right up.”

“Just make sure no one tails you, you hear me?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem seeing as evasive driving just happens to be my strong suite.”

“Exactly why I picked you for this detail- now get out of here.”

Haskins jogs down the hallway hollering “Oh Lucy!” in a loud falsetto voice. When the laughing dies down Garrison reminds everyone else of their watch assignments and sends Chin back to the basement to make sure Robertson has the detainees secured. Grabbing a satellite phone he steps outside to call in Hesse’s location.

Suddenly it’s just Kono and Rawlings in the family room.

“You really held your own out there with a firearm, Miss.”

Grinning, “It’s Kono. You did pretty good yourself.”

“Thank you, but I’ve got a few years advantage on you.”

“You’d be surprised how old I am.”

“Oh really. How old are you?”

“I’ll never tell!”

“Well I don’t mean to be forward are anything but maybe you’ll tell me this- are you uh, seeing anyone?”

Kono’s eyes dance merrily, “Not at the moment. I take it you’re not either?”

“Nope but I’d sure like to be. Any chance you might consider having a drink or maybe a meal with me after this is over?”

There’s something about Rawlings that disables Kono’s usual automatic brush off. She frowns, considering his offer. After an intentionally long time a slow smile spreads across her face, “You know I just might like that.”

The poor guy lets out his breath and flashes her a huge grin. “Really! That’s fantastic, I’ll be sure to get your number as soon as we fire up our cell phones.”

“I’ll be sure to give it to you. Tell me your first name again Lt. Rawlings.”

“It’s Felix,” he visibly cringes, “trust me, I still haven’t forgiven my parents.”

“I don’t know Felix, I kind of like it.” Kono arches her back in a cat-like stretch then unwinds her long legs and stands up. Being a gentleman, Rawlings does the same. Well not exactly. He skips the stretch and bolts up off the sofa like he’s been shot from a canon. There’s a solid wood coffee table in front of him and he hits his shin on it so hard he knocks over a water bottle. Luckily its cap is on. “You be careful, Lt.” Kono teases, watching him closely as she picks up the bottle, “I like my dates undamaged.”

Rawlings stands up, rubbing his leg. The poor man’s face is beet red. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

______~_________

 

Garrison’s right. The x-ray tech takes being blindfolded and told to ride in the back of his van in stride. He does try, understandably, to ask a few question but his chaperones make it clear they’re not going to be doing any chatting. As they drive back to the safe house Haskins scans his side mirrors continuously. In the black SUV in front of him his teammate does the same thing. It turns out Garrison’s warning is unnecessary. An hour and ten minutes after they left, they pull up to the house and back into the garage. Behind them the road leading to the house remains deserted.

“Thanks for cooperating with our somewhat unusual requests,” Garrison says to the blinking, slightly nervous looking tech as soon as Haskins removes the man’s blindfold. “What can we do to help you get finished up here quickly?”

“Well first I gotta get my equipment inside-hope we’re talking no stairs?” The tech peers over Garrison’s shoulder to see what the entrance to the house looks like.

“Oh there are stairs all right-and the patient is on the second floor.”

“Well he’s going to have to come downstairs unless someone feels like lugging a 300 pound piece of equipment up to him.”

“No problem. We can handle it.”

The tech rears back looking shocked. Then he catches sight of an incredibly muscled, very dark, very bald man in the doorway between the garage and the house. “What ever floats your boat,” he mutters, opening the van’s sliding side door and jumping inside. With precise, efficient moves because he’s done it so many times, he rolls a large piece of equipment toward the open door. Once he has it positioned and its wheels locked he slides into the driver’s seat, turns on the ignition and flips a switch. With a loud whirring sound the equipment moves out of the van on a motorized ramp. When the ramp is fully extended, he lowers it to the ground.

“Sweet.” Haskins says appreciatively. “I was wondering how we were going to lug that thing out of there.”

“Well now all you have to wonder is how you’re going to get it up to McGarrett,”Garrison says.

"I'm going to need Robertson for that.”

“Right here,” the man in the doorway, says.

“Well get your big black ass over here and quit posing.”

There’s a fair amount of swearing and name calling as Haskins and Robertson get the machine through the door and into the kitchen. The tech grabs what he needs from the van and follows them. The kitchen is empty and looks just like any other kitchen and the poor guy looks a little disappointed. That all changes when they pass through the family room. Eyes wide as saucers, he scans the impressive collection of weapons and surveillance equipment scattered on just about every surface around him.

His friends are never going to believe this.

_______~_________

“Sounds like you’re about to get your picture taken, buddy.”

Steve blinks blearily at Danny. “The x-ray guy’s here?”

“From the sound of it, I’d say yeah.” Both Danny and Fortas glance toward the door, grinning at the stream of profanities and loud clunks floating up to them from the direction of the stairs.

While Danny helps Steve get a little more comfortable Fortas slips out into the hallway to be briefed on how to take the X-rays. About five minutes later he comes back inside carrying two large photographic plates. Robertson’s right behind him with the machine, which he positions next to Steve’s bed.

About ten minutes after he started Fortas is satisfied he’s gotten the images he was asked to. Steve’s doc had ordered two different views of his arm which means he had to manipulate it a fair amount and check in with the tech several times to confirm that he was doing it right.

It was no cakewalk for Steve.

When Danny hurries back into the room Steve’s color’s grayish and his forehead is dotted with sweat. “Okay buddy, no ifs, ands, or buts, Fortas Nightengale here is going to give you something for pain, pronto.”

Steve doesn't answer. His eyes stay squeezed shut.

As Fortas fills a syringe Danny grabs a washcloth from a basin of water on the bedside table. “Here,babe. How about I do this.” It’s a rhetorical question –he’s already smoothing the cool cloth over Steve’s forehead. It’s something McGarrett would normally have balked at but he’s hurting and to tell the truth over the past few days he’s gotten used to having his not-so-new-anymore partner do a lot of little things for him. It’s crazy, but for some reason, he just doesn’t mind.

In fact what Danny does feel damn good.

____~____

With Steve knocked out and Haskins and his teammate in route to drop off the tech, the house settles into a familiar routine. Outside two men walk the perimeter of the property; inside another two scan all approaches from upstairs windows with high power binoculars. Danny’s in the kitchen making a sandwich; Chin is one of the men outside. Everyone else is gathered in the family room to listen to the feed from Five-tango’s raid on Hesse’s hideout. Every stomach in the room knots as they listen to the terse exchanges coming over a shortwave radio.

Suddenly Danny races into the room, gun out and eyes frantic, “Who’s up there with Steve?”

“I checked on him a minute ago-he was fine. I just want to hear this.” Fortas thinks Danny’s mad that Steve’s alone.

“No! I mean now. Swear to God I heard something up there.” Danny’s racing for the stairs as he says it.

Instantly the transmission they’re listening to is forgotten. “Robertson and Fortas, go with him, now!” Garrison barks, then, clicking on his comm set, “Chin , Johnson, what’s your status?”

Both men respond immediately and report nothing suspicious.

Upstairs Danny frantically sweeps Steve’s room. “I swear I heard something,” he says to Fortas then gestures toward Steve who appears sound asleep, “Make sure he’s okay.”

Fortas is already leaning over his patient and checking his breathing. As he checks his pulse he whispers, “Maybe it was just this guy shifting around or talking in his sleep?”

“No it was more like very light footsteps, they were right over my head.”

“Well the kitchen isn't under this room–”

Danny’s already chasing Robertson out the door and down the hall. Fortas, with his Sig drawn, stays behind with Steve.

“Clear!” rings out multiple times as each of the rooms and closets on the level are searched. Heavy footsteps pound up the stairs as Garrison joins the sweep. Fortas answers his worried look with an A-okay sign and gestures for him to head down the hallway to find the others

“Wait a minute.”

Garrison hears Danny’s voice but the room it seems to be coming from is empty. When he looks further he finds Danny in the closet starring at several cardboard boxes which are oddly situated in the middle of the floor-not against the wall or up on the shelves where you would expect. Heads tilted back, they both stare at a trapdoor in the ceiling.

“What the hell?” Garrison asks.

“Looks like we got another room to clear,” Danny whispers.

Holstering his gun, Garrison gestures for Danny to step aside and climbs up on one of the boxes. He’s a tall man and easily reaches the trapdoor, which is no more than a piece of ply board painted white. When he pushes on it, it slides easily out of the way.

“Careful,” Danny hisses.

For good reason.

Garrison will be a sitting target when he hoists himself up into the attic. The guy reminds Danny of a certain other SEAL the way, despite the fact, he casually digs a flashlight out of his pocket, turns it on and then, gripping it with his teeth, reaches up and grips the trapdoor's frame.

Go ahead hotshot.

Danny braces for the sound of gunfire- he’s that sure someone is up there and Garrison is a sitting target.

Beautiful silence.

Garrison's up there.

As soon as he clears the opening Garrison throws himself across the floor and rolls to the nearest wall. Crouched with his back against the wall, and his flashlight perched on top of his gun he scans the attic. He can just about see every inch of it. There’s a furnace at the far end. Still crouched, he slinks along the wall until he can see behind it.

No one. Nothing.

“Clear,” he yells, and then he looks up. “Wait a minute, what the-“

That’s all Danny needs to hear. He stacks another box on the one Garrison used and pulls himself up into the attic with a loud grunt. Garrison’s light draws his eyes to the ceiling “What? What do you see?” As he gets closer he sees that it's a large ventilation fan installed in the slanted roof. He feels something under his shoe and squats down to pick up a large screw. There’s another one a few inches away. “What the hell?”

“Check this out.” Garrison reaches up and gives the fan a push. It moves easily. When he pushes harder, it slides completely out of the way, leaving a gaping hole overhead. They can see the darkening sky. Garrison’s on his comm set right away. “Chin, Johnson! We might have someone on the roof! See anything?”

Chin answers right away, “Negative. I’ve got the entire back of the house visualized –it’s all clear.”

“Johnson what do you see?” After a second, “Johnson, come in!”

Dead silence.

“Chin-go find Johnson now!”

Garrison and Danny exchange a grim look and then run for the trapdoor. Chin’s voice comes over their comm sets just as Danny drops down behind Garrison. “I need help! Johnson’s down- he’s unconscious- no sign of injury-” Then a second later, “Get the medic out here now! He’s got some kind of dart in the back of his neck.”

The next few minutes are spent trying to save Johnson’s life and make sure whoever tried to kill him doesn’t get to McGarrett. Danny stands guard in Steve’s room along with Chin and Kono. By this time Steve is blearily trying to understand the frantic shouting he’s hearing and the tense looks on the faces around him. “It looks like someone was up here.” Danny tells him when he croaks a confused “What happened?” Chin pats him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, whoever it was, took off.”

“We hope.” Kono whispers.

The look on Steve’s face says not worrying would be pure stupidity.

_____~_______

Outside Fortas and Garrison work doggedly to save Johnson whose heart has stopped beating. Luckily a SEAL trauma kit is stocked with certain pharmaceuticals never found in its civilian counterparts. In Johnson’s case the most important unique inclusion is a small plastic box holding vials of antidotes for a variety of poisons. Fortas guesses that they’re dealing with a neuromuscular agent like Curare and hits Johnson with a syringe-full of a potent agent designed to reverse its effects. Within seconds Johnson starts to breathe on his own. Garrison stops the chest compressions he's doing and rears back, breathless and elated, “Good job!”

“We’re not out of the woods yet but I think he’ll be okay. Go see what the hell’s going on. I’m good here.”

“Okay, I’ll send someone to help you get him inside once we’re secured.”

It’s not like Garrison has to race back to the house the way he does – his team has already methodically searched every inch of it and found nothing.

“Wait a minute. This doesn’t make any sense.” Garrison says as they compare notes. “Someone hides in the attic, slips out through the roof and runs for it, almost killing Johnson in the process. Why?”

“He could have been waiting for an opportunity to get to Steve but then heard us coming and took off?” Danny offers.

“It’s possible. I want two of you to comb the area on foot. Chin- can you get a chopper out here for overhead surveillance?”

“Affirmative but there are a lot of big trees out there,” Chin shakes his head, “It's not going to be easy to spot someone under all that foliage.”

“You’re right, I still want some eyes overhead. We’re going to have to assume our man is out there until we know otherwise. Who’s upstairs with McGarrett?”

“Right now Kono and Robertson,” Rawlings answers.

“I want two of our team up there at all times.”

Rawlings immediately takes off for the stairs.

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m thinking this guy won’t be back until he can get a few pals to join him.”

“You may be right.” Garrison answers.

“What I want to know is how did he get in here in the first place?”

“Could he have been here all along?” Chin asks.

“Negative. My men searched the entire place before we bought McGarrett in.”

“Including the attic?” Danny asks.

“Including the attic,” one of the men who was in on the sweep answers.

“Then what about that X Ray tech –could someone have stowed away in his van?”

“Possibly in the undercarriage-my team would have searched the van itself. Even if he did though, how could he have gotten in the house?”

“Well when we were upstairs getting the x ray he could have slipped into the house and hid somewhere on the first floor. Then, when we all listening to the raid he could have gone upstairs.” Danny suddenly goes pale, “Oh fuck…”

“What?”

“What if he wasn’t up there waiting to do something to Steve, what if he was just waiting for nightfall to take off and-”

“-had already done what he had to do?” Kono finishes Danny’s thought going as pale as he is.

Danny races for the stairs. “We got to get Steve out of here. There could be a bomb up there!”

“He’s right. We’ve got to get him out and go over this place with fine tooth comb,” Garrison shouts, running after Danny. Taking the stairs two at a time, he yells for someone to call for back up. Without being told to, two of his men run to the garage to get the SUVs.

Danny flies into Steve’s room so fast he has to grab the bedrail to stop himself. “We got to get him out of here!” he screams at a shocked Kono and instantly ready to move Robertson. Garrison is in the doorway a second later. “Robertson can you get McGarrett down the stairs.”

“I can try.”

Steve’s having none of it. “No. I can walk.” He sits up with a pained hiss and slides his legs toward the edge of the bed. Craddling his arm against his chest and draping his good arm over Johnson’s shoulder he tries to stand. The minute his feet hit the floor his knees buckle.

“Just carry him for God’s sake!” Danny yells. Grunting, the big man scoops Steve up like he would a child and lurches toward the door. As big as Robertson is, Steve knows he’s not going to last long withot help and reaches around his neck with his good arm to support at least some of his body weight.

“Better.” Robertson hisses staggering toward the stairs.

Better for him but worse for Steve. Unsupported, his injured arm bounces against his chest with each step Robertson takes. Halfway down the stairs Robertson almost loses his balance and lurches wildly to avoid falling. He stays upright but Steve’s arm flies off his chest and dangles in front of Robertson’s leg. The big man’s knee knocks against the metal fixator each step. Steve tries to bite back a moan but the pain is too much. Behind him Danny and Kono grimace. Two men looking up from the foot of the stairs do the same. They’ve got the stretcher Steve was brought in on and are waiting to whisk him out the open front door to where the waiting SUVs. Both vehicles' engines are idling and three of the men have formed a horseshoe around them,backs to the vehicles and automatic rifles ready.

“I’ve got something up here-” a voice crackles over their comm sets. It’s Rawlings calling in from the attic where Garrison sent him to try and find out if Danny’s suspicion is true. “Shit-it looks like C4! Rawlings voice gets softer and trembles, "There’s enough of it up here to blow this place sky high."

“Do you see the timer?”

“Hold on. Oh God-thirty-nine seconds!”

“Get out of there now!” Then, “Fortas- you guys got McGarrett downstairs yet?”

“Affirmative.”

As in just now.

At the foot of the stairs a sweat drenched Robertson literally drops Steve on the stretcher. He has no choice; every muscle in his body is on fire. Before the big man even straightens up, the two men on either side of the stretcher start racing for the front door. Panting and stumbling on legs that feel like rubber, Robertson follows them. When he reaches the door, he hears his name and turns.

“Go without me! Get out!” Rawlings yells from the top of the staircase. “I’ll run for it; get that vehicles out of here!”

The first SUV, the one with Steve in it has already peeled down the driveway when Robertson jumps into the second one. “Go! Now!” he yells,“ Rawlings is going to run for it.” Asking no questions because he knows better, the man driving floors it just as the timer in the attic reads 00:00:00.

_______~_____

 

No one gets left behind.

It’s their rule, or motto or creed, call it whatever you like.

What it is, is true.

Garrison is in the second SUV. The minute it lands on it’s side halfway down the sloping lawn he kicks open his door and races back toward the house, or what’s left of it.

At first it’s all just smoke and debris and the roar of a massive fire.

Then he sees Rawlings.

Make that he sees a charred form on the ground.

“No! Oh shit no!” It feels like he’s running in quicksand as he races toward him. “Rawlings you bastard, don't you dare do this!”

As horribly burned and in as much pain as he’s in, Rawlings turns his head and smiles weakly. His teeth are eerily white against his singed, soot covered face. “Hey….Pat,” he croaks, holding his breath against the pain, “Is our man…s…safe?”

Garrison nods yes fighting back tears. He can’t scream, “Fortas get over here!” loud enough..

A few yards down the road the first SUV sits where the force of the explosion sent it skidding off the road and into a ditch. Kono and Robertson stay with Steve while Fortas and the others races back to the house. As they get closer they see Garrison kneeling in the grass.

Then they see Rawlings.

Every single one of them prays it’s not as bad as it looks.

_____~____

 

Epilogue

 

Queens Hospital is home to quite a few Navy SEALs and all of the H50 team for quite a while after the safe house explosion.

At first it’s a scary as hell place- even Garrison cringes every time he goes in the ICU.

Rawlings is in bad shape.

He’s lost half the skin on his body.

They can’t pump the morphine in him fast enough to keep up with his pain.

McGarrett is fighting a hell of a battle too.

The pins in his arm had to be replaced and he picked up some kind of infection in the process. He’s in the ICU a few bays down from Rawlings stripped and laid out under a cooling blanket with half a dozen IV bags daggling overhead.

For the first two days Danny, Kono and Chin, sit elbow to elbow in a private waiting room with Garrison and his team hoping for good news and getting bad. Then very close to noon on an overcast Wednesday, a rumpled looking surgeon comes into the room. He does a double take, a little thrown by the assortment of brawn and good looks he sees and the palpable fear he feels. “Family of Felix Rawlings?"

Every single one of them stands up.

Kono doesn’t know why but she’s fighting back tears. Chin’s arm is around her, tight and insistent.

“Yes,” Garrsion says. “What can you tell us.”

The exhausted looking man takes a deep breath and says, “Well he’s finally turned the corner. He’s off pressors and breathing on his on.”

None of them are exactly sure what off pressors means but they catch the man’s gist-Rawlings is going to make it

Tears spill down Kono's cheeks..

“And McGarrett?” Garrison asks.

“His doctor will have to update you-I’m sorry.”

It takes a few more hours to get an update on Steve.

That news is also good.

They’ve identified the bacteria causing his infection-Acinetobacter baumannii. It’s rare and vicious but can be treated with a gee whiz $400 dollar a gram antibiotic. When he stops shivering and sweating just a few hours after the first infusion no one can stop smiling.

Oh, and speaking of sweating.

Heese is doing just that over in Hawala’s maximum-security wing. It took Five-Tango a little longer to get him there than they expected though; the hideout they raided had been deserted. Luckily with some strong detective work and a little luck they managed to track him down only a few hours later on a trawler headed for open sea.

Was Hesse ever pissed.

**Author's Note:**

> My first H50 fanfic. Posting it here now as part of getting all fics in one place.


End file.
